


SkyFall

by Orthodoxia



Series: The Shape of Khaos [2]
Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Bronze Age Morality, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, In-game Dialogue, Long Form, Power Dynamics, Wartime Devastation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21847270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orthodoxia/pseuds/Orthodoxia
Summary: Continuation from 'Standing at the Edge'Fatebinder Ponirya is tasked with delivering the Edict of Execution to Archons of War and Secrets. Next thing she knows, the world spirals out of control. It is the horror of existence. And the thrill of possibility.
Relationships: -will be added-
Series: The Shape of Khaos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573969
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Act 1 / Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

ಠ_ಠ

_“The world was war torn, magic was heightened, and there was a long history of the world before the Overlord conquered the area. Above her, the statue of Queen Lycaereus was weeping blood. It was broad daylight but it already felt like shadows were heavy. This was not a happy world.”_

ಠ_ಠ

The last leg of the journey turned out to be the most difficult one.

It was the by now familiar sensation of her hair standing on its end, a light shiver in her muscles, all the little signals that came mere moments before the ground trembled, nearly knocking her off her feet. It was a final warning that she should run for her life. As she rushed throughout the last leg of the winding mountain passes, the explosion was like a thunder straight out of the Blade Grave, as if the very essence of magic responded to her attempts to get around with her life and body intact. With the magnitude and scale of rocks being forcefully moved around her – like something straight out of an Earthshakers’ wet dream – the ground gave one final shudder as she skidded forward and through the opening leading into the valley. It wasn’t hard to guess that she was, very likely, the last person to set foot in before Kyros’ magic sealed the way behind her.

Skull-shattering ringing persisted in her ears and bitter metallic aftertaste coated her mouth. Seething breath passed between clenched teeth and locks of pale hair hung from under her hood, while stray strands along the hairline, wet from sweat, stuck to her face. Under the sunlight, her golden hair reflected the yellow of bountiful wheat fields of the Azure before Kyros got its hands on it.

Following what had to be the quickest run for her life in the last year (more or less), a lone courier landed just outside at the edge of the ravine. Dust and magic swivelled around her, like some kind of miniature Edict of Storms. It was in her armour – covering it and slipping in between the folds – singeing her eyes and nose, itching its way down her throat, demanding attention as she coughed every last bit of stray earth out. Remnants of that same energy permeated the valley she was in until there was more magic than mundane in the air.

None of this was discomfort was unusual in her line of work, and it was especially common in the past four years of war. One would be surprised to learn of the... lengths and heights a Fatebinder was required to go in order to complete a mission.

With hands still resting on her knees, she tipped her head back, closed her eyes and let out a huff. A bead of sweat trailed down the side of her face, along the neck, then pulled away at her nape. The shaking stopped, and she could only catch the sound of settling rocks, and crumbling dust fell with loose stones. That was good, she thought. Not in the immediate danger of dying by a cave-in, just yet.

Not something she could hope for long – as the moment she had entered the valley, the sound of settling rocks was replaced by the mingling clamour of battle and anguished cries of dying men coming from bellow. Screams and clang of metal filled her ears. Wiping her bleary eyes she looked down, surveyed the location – as well as the cliff she nearly fell off in her hasty run for her life.

Was it the Chorus that was fighting below?

Her eyes quickly darted to the side to confirm that - yes, the Chorus was indeed up to their armpits in Oathbreakers’ blood. And if her eyes didn’t deceive her after all the dust kicked up in her face, they have brought some of their more elite fighters along. There was some purple thrown in the mix, but red was almost always a more dominant colour whenever the war happened, and their overwhelming numbers were not the only reason for that.

Now, Ponirya wouldn’t be a very good Fatebinder if she were to let something as minor as Kyros induced avalanche, sealing her within what had essentially become a battle arena to settle the dominance of the Tiers, influence her composure and thwart her assignment. Just thinking about that, she should probably get going and deliver the Edict. Already, she was starting to feel as if the vellum heavy with destructive magic was going to burn through the leather of her bag.

Dusting herself off, Ponirya rose from her spot on the cliff-side overlooking the valley and for a brief moment, her eyes turned towards the statue, towering over the camp and remembering her first and last time in this spot. But it was only for a moment because next, her eyes narrowed as she turned and started on her way down along the cliff edge. She could reminisce along the way.

She rushed down rounding around a pair engaged in bloody exercise, then forward ducking low under a bronze spear, hiking the woman’s leg with her foot, throwing her off balance just long enough to put a dagger through the soft spot between the armour links. If the blood loss doesn’t kill her, the poison would. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. This was routine, her mind was elsewhere.

From where she was running down the narrow path, she could see that they had broken through the fort's defences – not that the avalanche did any favours to the structure – and now made their way toward the valley entrance, attempting to flee. But why now? Why were they pissing on the peace accord she had broken her back to facilitate and save their lives? Dignity could wait for a generation or two. It was obvious that getting such answers would require an interrogation of someone well informed. This whole situation irked her, like a persistent itch she had inflicted on herself.

She spotted a boulder up ahead. Without slowing down and before she even got to see who was fighting on the other side, she grabbed a spear from one of many corpses littering the path. There were bound to be people in her way, but she was going to let the rock sort out friend from foe. With a strong push, she dislodged it enough for the downhill to do the rest. Screams were first and feet shuffling out of the way came next. A lot of bodies on all sides, blue, purple and red, dotted the copper-coloured landscape. At least, a thought came to her with a slight smirk, the Disfavored could hold onto their guts long enough to heal.

With quick feet, she made her way down into the valley. And much like the last time she was here, it was either gore or shit under her feet, and occasionally even a crunch of bone. Best not to think which was which.

She was halfway down the trail leading into the camp. Ahead of her, she spotted a deadlock between a Disfavored soldier and the trio of oathbreakers, and sprinted towards them. The Vendrien guard in the middle opened his mouth to warn the others, but before he could utter a word, Ponirya slid under the locked blades, situating herself between the two sides, short sword ready at hand. Flesh parted to metal, and the soldier gagged, blood filling her throat. The sharp tip of the blade had pierced her jugular. With a twist and pull, Ponirya retracted the short sword with ease, leaving a spurting wound and a slowly suffocating soldier collapsed on her knees.

Leaving the other two – utterly startled and staggered long enough for the Disfavored soldier to lodge his blade deep between the bronze plates of one of the other of the Guard. He could easily deal with the leftover. Ponirya rushed past them, bloody footprints behind her marking her passing.

“Try and catch me, worm!”

Ponirya’s ears perked up at the familiar voice and she slowed down at the eager shout.

_‘Don’t tell me…’_

Nearing the camp she spotted a group of rebels circling a young Chorus member – although to be fair, old Chorus members were practically nonexistent. She weaved around at the Vendrien Guard attackers, avoiding their weapons with fluid grace.

But this… that was an interesting and familiar sight.

Crouching on the top of the stone steps, from the shadows of her hood Ponirya watched with mild interest how bloody the day would get. With head covered in feathers and wearing a patchwork of an armour, young woman’s movements were a flurry of motion not unlike a dance.

A Scarlet Fury – and looking down at the bloodbath, she realized that, yes, she did indeed knew the woman (why was she even expecting anyone else in this carnage). Bloody Verse. She hadn’t seen her since the Gates of Judgment and the whole Bastard City ordeal, and she let out a sigh.

“Harbinger!” The bloodied woman called out to her as her blade slit the throat of another oathbreaker. Blood sprayed, covering her face like a gruesome badge of honour. “Still standing after three years of war?!”

“And you’re still chewing on more than you can swallow.”

“I’m about to put these cowards out of their misery! Join me!” She nodded to the three armed soldiers bearing down at her, yet still keeping their distance.

Ponirya arched an eyebrow, though under the hood it was hardly noticeable. “You sure about that? Last time the tally wasn’t in your favour.”

“ _Fuck you binder!_ That was three years ago! If you want to count heads again come and fight!” She slashed wildly, tip of her blade reaching and nicking a surprised woman who backpedalled wildly with a cry and a curse. An equally wild grin splitting her face under all the blood she had earned that day. “Or don’t. The offer stands.”

A breathless enemy soldier passed a glance to her countryman. “This one’s crazy! Too much lead in her water. We should cut our losses and turn back…” yet the others didn’t seem willing to listen to her. There was too much on the line here – pride being first among it.

“For the realms of Apex, char-!” The Vendrien Guard levelled her weapon, ready to advance when a blur swift as the wind rushed in and kicked the falxwoman in the face. The soldier stumbled back, stunned. Still in motion, her attacker seized her sword arm by the wrist, hooked her by the elbow, and forced the joint inward. Bone, cartilage and muscle cracked and tore. The falxwoman scream ripped air and curdled blood. Immediately Ponirya pulled the blade back in an arch towards her next target, and she pushed the weapon forward in one fluid motion and the realization that othbreaker’s bronze plate failed to protect her came out in a gurgle and a choke. The last bit of air seeped out in a strangled groan, her death rattle.

The last warrior woman on her feet found herself alone and pinned between the two – her eyes trying to not lose the sight of the figure covered in black and gold before her, and yet still struggling to not take her attention away from the patchwork mess of red and bronze whirling blades behind her. A beast in human skin who was covered in her countrymen's blood and with a grin that was all teeth and no mercy. Like a damned distraction, with the high altitude, thread-thin air pulled painfully on her labouring lungs. Sweat and perhaps even tears mixed as they rolled down her face. It was too late when she felt gloved fingers brush like a whisper across her cheek. The sound of bone being broken lost in the clamour to all but those nearest. Her body went limp without another sound, and like a sack of rotten food dropped to the ground.

When it all came to a stop, even as the quake had subsided and the mountain range was once again silent, and they stood still, surrounded by the charred and broken bodies of the Vendrien Guard, the Fatebinder faced her, turning slowly. She had been looking for a runner, but Verse should be informed enough to get her up to speed on the situation now that the Vendrien Guard has attacked.

“I can tell you didn’t spend the rest of the conquest in the diplomat’s tent,” the Fury surveyed the fresh corpses and nodded with satisfaction. “Didn’t expect you to hog on all the fun either,” she added then with a frown, and maybe a thinly veiled pout though it had more the appearance of a sneer.

Ponirya snorted, sounding almost incredulous, discarding the bronze sword next to the bodies. “You’re the one who asked me to join in. And, if you're still feeling needy, there's plenty more below,” she pointed at the gang who have just busted down the makeshift gates (why were they trying to force their way inside the camp?) and were busily fighting men in bright bronze armour and sky blue tunic (that dye must have cost a fortune in days before Kyros’ conquest, and its cost might yet increase). This was going to be a long mission. Not in the least because she was seeing familiar faces left and right, on both sides. Her eyes were not deceiving her...

_“Scarlet Chorus reinforcements! Hurry!”_ A yell came from bellow.

Tarkis Demos.

Yes, she could see the man himself fighting, dead centre and alongside his men. The red mob of reinforcements was approaching from the south, a Blood Chanter emerged at the head of the rabble, the ornamental crest of her staff pulsing with crimson tones. Signing sigils of magic and wordlessly moving her mouth, the Blood Chanter scribes a series of spells into the air. A red glow surrounds the Vendrien Guard warriors as the Chanter's magic worms its way into their minds, blinding them with rage.

“And what of you? Are you’re here for bloody mayhem or is there anything else?” The fatebinder asked turning her eyes back to the Fury.

“The Voices of Nerat told me to intercept you at the Edgering ruins before you busied yourself solving all the camp’s problems. Guess I was too late,” she smirked as she ducked and wiped the blood of her weapons across the fallen bodies, only smearing it further across the flat side of the blade. “You’re due for a meeting with the Archons, but we should handle the small matter of this ambush first. Those Vendrien guard we killed didn’t come alone,” she gestured to the skirmish unfolding in the pass below, shaking her head.

Ah. So the Voices of Nerat had decided that no less than a Scarlet Fury was to be her escort, and he had chosen the one she was acquainted with – one of the elite killers of Chorus’ ignoble gang. She remembered always seeing more than a few around the camp, but they were a rare breed. This meant that the Archons were well aware that an Edict was heading their way. And while the Disfavoured seemed to be in the know as well, Graven Ashe didn’t feel the need to send someone to shadow her every step. But Graven Ashe was no Archon of Secrets and the one who was… just had to know every little bit of going on-s in the Tiers.

Ponirya closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. The taste of iron was thick and overwhelming in the air, almost like three years ago, but her focus didn’t waver. She looked down at the bodies falling, bodies being set aflame, bodies being torn apart… The smell of charred flesh assaulted her, and thick smoke from the fire sigils bit at her eyes. Such small, annoying discomforts, her body reminded her.

Now in ruins, the old fortress housed tents of both Disfavoured and Scarlet Chorus colours. Dark trunks and foliage of conifers grew on every available ledge, contrasted from the well-lit landscape and bare dirt paths that weaved along the mountainside into and out of the camp, routes worn by countless thousands marching one after another. Where were the army commanders of this camp? Even among the Disfavoured, it was the small sporadic groups fighting every-which-where.

“Any idea why they’re attacking now?”

“My guess? They’re testing our strength in battle – learning how we perform before they organize a real offensive. That or they’re really, really desperate to get beyond the mountains and couldn’t wait until nightfall.”

Sure. Defensible. Also suicidal if the siege were to last too long. Except Kyros didn’t want that. Kyros wanted all of them dead sometime before yesterday.

The fatebinder closed her mouth, with a furrowed brow, her thoughts turning inwards, “So how is this ‘an ambush’?” A whisper, not really intended for anyone to hear or respond to.

Hot air, smoke, and dust kicked them in the face as the two parties clashed before them. There were still other stragglers they had to deal with before the ruins were returned under Kyros' control once more. This camp, however, wasn’t her concern.

“What _are you_ babbling on about now?”

“I am babbling about the gates being open and with enough of our forces here to handle the quell the unrest, we should get going and not have the Archons wait for their punishment any long-…”

“ _For the Voices of Nerat!_ ” With a loud cry, a blaze of red rushed past the fatebinder. Not one to miss out on the bloodbath, or listen to others, Verse jumped in, eager to join her chorus mates in battle.

“You’re just doing that on purpose now…” Ponirya watched, dragging her fingers across her scalp, her voice a combination of a flat tone and an exasperated eye-roll, the kind that can only ever be learned in the Court. Obviously, she wasn’t going to set a foot outside this camp before the matter is settled. Or _everyone_ died – which was tempting but not a viable solution.

With Verse being busy doing what Verse did best, Ponirya rolled her shoulders and sighed stepping into one man’s path.

“Eyes forward, no looking back!” The Vendrian Guard warrior roared with his falx held high, his words largely lost over the din of combat, struggling to recover from the excursion they just extracted themselves out of. “ _You_?” As his attention landed on the woman standing before him, a double-take of recognition, and perhaps even a small amount of guilt, came over the man’s face. “The Peacebinder from the war… If you’ve come again to talk peace, it seems you’re too late."

“You don’t say.” Her voice was a light whisper, pads of her fingers of her right hand brushing against each other.

Well, if this wasn’t a wholesome reunion. One more reminder of how very pointless the whole thing was. ‘Peacebinder’ they called her and what a mocking title that had turned out to be… This didn’t feel like peace. Commander of the Vendrien Guard incursion at Edgering Ruins, Tarkis led a desperate attack to allow his forces to break out of the Valley and spill into the Tiers. Spill with 'what' was the question not even the oathbreakers likely had the answer to.

"We knew that violating the surrender meant an end to what little mercy and goodwill Kyros’ forces have or ever will show us. Now there’s no turning back.” He shook his head with a frown, sounding almost remorseful. “I know you tried to do right by us in the past. But now you’re between us and the way out… nothing personal.”

“This could’ve gone much differently.”

“Binder – you still going on about his? Can we just kill people without you talking at length every. Single. _Damn_. **_Time_**?”

Ponirya’s eyes barely slid sideways to where the Fury appeared next to her. Just enough to keep track of her movements, in fact. “Verse... weren't you otherwise occupied with a wholesale slaughter?”

“Sure I am. And if you’re not going to take their scalps, I am,” she used one of her blades to gesture at the outnumbered oathbreaker force. They had the balls to attack the camp directly and during the daytime. They couldn’t hope to survive. And maybe that was enough for Tarkis, fully aware that as of this moment this had become a losing battle. He signalled his men to charge, the sound of chanting rose from the south as the blood chanters turned their attention towards them, drawing his attention.

The targets raised their weapon in defence as Verse, swift as the wind, cleaved across their torso. Bronze clashed as falxes and sword locked. Both side’s arms trembled under the strain.

Fatebinder Ponirya pulled the hood deeper over her eyes, now burning with rage and disappointment, and with lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t spared either. No consideration for the Peacebinder.

That was fine – she would return the favour in kind.

ಠ_ಠ


	2. Act 1 / Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

ಠ_ಠ

_Kyros demands victory at Vendrien's Well. As a Fatebinder of Tunon, Fatebinder Ponirya Metis Areia was tasked with delivering Kyros' Edict to the Archons of the Disfavored and the Scarlet Chorus. They must defeat the rebellious Vendrien Guard soon, or everyone in the valley, allies and enemies alike, will die._

ಠ_ಠ

Like a gruesome procession before her, she watched the line of poles with bodies spiked on them – oathbreakers left to die and rot in the clear view of everyone who might dare to take this road and watch insides of those who oppose Kyros dry in the sun. Man and woman, whether in their prime or elderly, whether clad in the gear of a soldier or robes of a civilian, were staked upon poles bearing the Overlord’s insignia. Fluids collected below each rod, fed by trickles down the stick. Fresh pools rippled from drops of blood, while stagnant puddles coagulated into a reddish mud.

It was certainly a… sight.

“You’d think they’d take down those rotten away, make some room… but they just keep planting new ones.”

Ponirya didn’t disagree.

The Road of Victory… To the Tiersmen, and all those conquered through the ages, this sight of dread and terror served as a warning of the consequences of being unwilling to bend, or being too arrogant to bow. Putrid flesh scented every sniff along the road. Only dead less than a day old were spared from obvious signs of nature’s mutilation, and of the bodies that lined the sides of the road, they were not few.

It was hard to believe anyone would think of it as any kind of monument to ‘Victory’, but if it did one thing well, it was for those who got off on watching others suffer. She had witnessed more than once both purple and their red-clad counterparts with their pants down, jerking off to the sight of flesh and muscle being stripped from the bones. During the early days of conquest, not even the Bastard’s City managed to escape this fate and nothing she ever did was enough to temper the outcome.

Ultimately, for the proud people of the Apex, it was like adding kindle to the fire of their rage. In the long run, it was easy to see it coming as a response to this futile and counterproductive course of action. Yet those above her thought to understand things better than a child (a novice and an apprentice, when they were filling generous) such as her would.

A waste. Of resources. Of manpower. “…of everything and anything…” she whispered under her breath, words lost to the wind sweeping across the planes.

“Listen, I know we're both eager to watch the Archons bicker over tactics like a pair of magpies, but I need to ask you something first." Verse slowed her pace as if trying to stall their slog through the corpse-ridden grasslands. Guided by Crescent Runner’s brief instructions, the two, Fatebinder Ponirya and Verse, trekked the now three-hour journey from Edgering Ruins to the Disfavored’s campsite, where Graven Ashe and the Voices of Nerat were meeting to discuss their strategy, and thus prattle on battles that had been lost in the years since their last meeting.

That the two Archons were in the same camp, under the same tent and were yet to murder each other, told her how serious the situation must be - yet not serious enough for them to try and work together. Things must have happened in the past span to get them to sit down at the same table - things she had no insight in and had no way of looking into or confirming.

Not slowing down, Ponirya hummed in response. They made a good time travelling deeper into the valley. Each of them was to see a task being completed. That of Edict (and the Fatebinder carrying it) being delivered and to see to hunting down and eliminating the rebels – she suspected the later was to be a very vital part of their mission.

“The Voices of Nerat told me that you've come as a mediator. Considering the source... well, I can't help but feel I'm only hearing half the story. So let's have it out. What's so special about you?”

“What else has the Voices of Nerat told you?" Ponirya’s eyes scanned the horizon. Finally, wisps of smoke from bonfires rising into the sky showed on the horizon.

“It's just a feeling I got. When the Archons are together, the air gets as taut as a bowstring. I can't help but think that no amount of compromise will get them seeing eye to eye.”

“Did the Voices of Nerat ask you to spy on me?”

At a loss for words, Verse regarded her with momentary unease. “Well, are you even surprised? He's the Archon of Secrets. Knowing in advance is his business. So is snatching up any advantage over Graven Ashe. Those two compete like a couple of new recruits for a spot around the fire.”

“An interesting way to describe them.” And not wholly inaccurate. It wasn’t that the soldiers were not blind to the failings of their Archons, it simply wasn’t something that was acknowledged in polite company.

“It's nothing nefarious. The Voices is just curious why you're here. If he wanted to know more, you wouldn't be able to suss it out that easily. He would have sent one of his scarier peons in my stead.”

It would have to be one very scary peon indeed.

“We’re almost at the camp, so both of you will know soon enough.” She moved to readjust her hood, briefly letting her pale hair show before covering it once more.

“That’s it?” Verse called but the Fatebinder just trudged on. “The Voices of Nerat called his best fighters to this siege. There must be something important about Vendrien's Well, though don't ask me what. The Archon isn't in the habit of spilling secrets.”

“Then, the armies are still at each other’s throat?”

It had started long before they marched south, but even after the conquest the soldiers of Scarlet Chorus and the Disvafored clashed in meaningless fights, again and again, hissing at each other. Like some twisted reflexion of their Archons, the desire to hate and exterminate the other was passed on to the recruits. Sometimes the struggles became less fierce, but they never truly stopped and often it was the bystanders who suffered from it.

“I've been with the Scarlet Chorus since the early days of the conquest, so I can say it's been building for a few years now. There's an energy about those two - like a pair of storms moving to collide.”

“Were it any other army commander, I’d say that by not falling in line and not putting the past behind them, they prove how unfit they are to command. However, seeing how these are Archons, only the Overlord and Tunon have a say in judging their level of incompetence.” The Edict, safely tucked away in her bag and waiting for its proclamation, was one of such methods used to spur these two powerful beings into working with each other. “Despite all the evidence to the contrary, us Fatebinders are, by far and large, powerless. But hush – that’s supposed to be a trade secret.”

“Powerless, my ass. I’ve seen you lot castrate the Iron Guard and the Crimson Spears when they crossed _your_ line.” There was no malice to Verse’s words – maybe just an unsettling feeling that accompanied all who had to deal with Tunon’s people. “I'm not disagreeing with you, but I would take care where you speak your mind. Someone is always eager to report slander to their favourite Archon.”

“Duly noted. And I do appreciate the warning Verse. Why, I suspect that insulting the Adjudicator in my presence would end up being not healthy for anyone involved.” The Fury received an almost deceptively innocent smile which told her nothing (except that heads will roll at some point if she remembered anything about this particular Fatebinder) as they approached their destination.

Even from distance, the Disvafored camp looked about as orderly as Nunoval’s drill formations, with all the necessities a military outpost intended for a longer period of time would need. Everyone would think of Rhogalus as being the orderly one, but that man-made his bed in that chaotic library of his. With his perfect memory classification and categorization were words from a dead language to him. That was the very reason why Iphigenia was the only apprentice in recent memory that could keep up and thrive under him. In every sense of the word.

“I don't envy you the task of getting them to cooperate, which sounds about as easy as teaching a tornado to heel.”

“I really don’t envy myself either.”

“Binder, don’t tell me you’re already ripe for a drink.”

“I’ll ask you kindly to name me one soldier, in this failure of a campaign, who isn’t already half-drunk.”

After a pause, the Fury added with her own brand of toothy grin wide on her face. “When you say it like that… I might know a guy.”

ಠ_ಠ

A hum of energy was about the camp, not simmering or boiling over. Lazily life flowed, as it always did during a prolonged siege. The Disfavored looked like they were yet to call it an evening, not with the combat drills still going on strong. Though some were heavily patched, every tent bore the proud symbol of the Disfavored - as proud as a scratched out old sigil could be. Save for Graven Ashe, few knew of its original appearance and meaning. From between them, the aroma of the smoked game in burnt stews mixed with the odours of sweat and excrement drifted, permeating the sleeping areas. Rows of them under straight angles and not a single tent out of formation, except one – the largest one in the centre of the camp.

It wasn’t her plan to stop on the way to the commander's tent – there will be time to talk with the soldiers. She already knew what kind of tales and accusations the Disfavored will throw her way – they will accuse the Scarlet Choir of secret collusion with the oathbreakers, their unwillingness to act together and, of course, looting and pillaging. And once she reaches the Chorus’ camp she will hear almost the exact same thing – with ‘salting the earth’ instead of ‘looting’…

It was a booming voice shouted from behind the tent flaps, followed by a shrilled one that stopped her in her tracks. The latter prodded, snide and dramatic, while the former defended and countered. Although Nerat was ever so fond of these little spats with the Archon of War, their incessant fights had more to do with their pursuit of Tunon’s favour than anything as simple as a mutual hatred. She could hear the hot air, lightening and something better left unidentified, all the way out here.

“...shit...” Ponirya sighed. Saying ‘here we go again...’ was almost redundant at this point. When was the last time she had heard those two voices? And at the same time? A while – and was she glad for it.

This time, the situation was bad enough that she had to be sent in the first place.

Verse let out something between a sigh and a laugh, “I’m guessing that the Voices have been a poisoned spearhead in the ‘someone’s’ side since this morning. At least it _sounds_ like the Archon’s in a good mood.”

“And why not? If the Archon of Secrets clams victory today there’s a good chance that the Adjudicator will allow him to become a new ‘custodian’ of the entire Tiers. ” It will be a barren wasteland to lord over certainly, what with the three Edicts in close proximity, still going strong and ravaging the peninsula... but she didn’t think either of the Archons would mind that. Not at first. Not until their realm was shown to be unable to contribute to the greater Empire.

Ponirya looked at the tent, eyes narrow under the shadow of her hood and then gestured to the Fury to follow her. “Don’t hold back now, Verse. You wanted to see what’s coming next.”

She walked through swells of interlacing magic, constantly at war with each other, pushing the tent flap out of the way. Ponirya was raised to take in her surroundings immediately upon finding herself in new surroundings – the layout, the people present, convenient shadows... all of it was crucial for the success of the mission. In this case, the inside of the tent wasn’t something anyone would give a damn about – not when two figures of colossal presence were soaking in all the attention, all the focus of those present. It was like trying to tear one’s eyes away from the Adjudicator himself. Or any other spectacle of increasingly exceeding proportions.

“That's four reports of avalanches in the mountains now. The Tiersmen can barely count past nine - they have neither the capacity nor the cause to close off the mountain passes. Either way, that leaves the second and fourth cohort trapped outside the valley.” The Archon of War pounded his staff on the ground to punctuate his words, pale lightning flashing as it spread across the floor of the tent. A large and imposing man, to begin with, his profile was made larger still by his hulking suit of armour that hummed with mystic energy.

“Or it's the work of your perfidious Earthshakers. Only a fool would not suspect a traitorous Archon of poisoning the mind of his students with sedition. We would have killed the Earthshakers Guild for their master's treachery... but I'm sure you have some perfectly valid reason for allowing them to live as your pawns.” The Archon of Secrets passed a sceptre between his hands as he spoke, twirling the rod in hypnotic circles. Emerald luminescence seeped from the seams of the Archon's ragged, red robes – a sort of stained, patchwork finery, something that might have once been the garb of a noble house, now marred and torn and darned beyond recognition. The glow was most noticeable where his neck ought to be - his mask seemed to float and spin, never pivoting or bending naturally.

“Hey. Watch yourself. When these two get going, you don’t want to get between them.” Leaning over, Verse whispered fearfully as she regarded the Archons. Ponirya understood why, and chose not to care. Only to watch her step carefully.

Back straight she gritted her teeth, enduring the presence that the two Archons exuded. So opposite that they clashed in the centre of the tent not unlike a whirlpool of opposing forces – neither giving into the other. This combined presence left a rotten taste in her mouth and her body feel rigid. Both of their second-in-commands seemed to be better used to handle their masters' presence as the matter kept heating up.

They all noticed her come in, no doubt, but the Archons had more pressing matters to attend to – namely that of heckling each other. She had learned that waiting until they were mostly done and had this urge, this _need_ to outdo each other, out of their system, was the only way to go before there was any point for her to speak.

“I always know you've run out of things to say when you resort to mocking my vassals. If we are to speak of treachery, why is it that my scouts see Scarlet Chorus warriors defecting back to the Vendrien Guard? Your fearsome reputation has gone flaccid, for it seems you cannot control your soldiers... or perhaps you simply choose not to.”

“My Lords, the Fatebinder has arrived." The Disfavored commander, a mountain of a woman herself (or perhaps it merely seemed so what with her being decked in iron) raised her voice, trying with little success to speak over the Archons. "Perhaps we could table this discussion and let our guest speak.”

“Speaking of strategic failures, who was it that insisted this valley would need only a token garrison? For some strange reason, we can't seem to recall which balding half-wit grossly underestimated the enemy. Thoughts?” The Archon of Secrets twirled his sceptre in a twisting loop, his leather-wrapped hands flipping the heavy rod with an effortless flow. One face of his lulling helmet ever focused on Ashe, while the other, disturbingly fixated on _her_.

And so they went. For quite a while, and she let them. Wasn’t much else she could do when the Archon of Secrets knocked on her mind and ‘kindly’ asked her to wait for a bit longer. Baiting Graven Ashe was a form of sport for it at this point. A bit of a low bar of a challenge-…

_‘Begging your pardon, Archon, but even you have to agree that crossing words with Archon of War is certainly not on the same level as baiting the Adjudicator...’_

Sadly, she had learned early on that the only way to get these two to stop fighting, was to focus their irritation somewhere else. Unfortunately, that normally meant her. Having an occasional thought from Nerat dropped into her mind like an iron ball was also something she had learned to deal with and endure along the way. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened mere hours before the Edict of Fire leapt from her mouth.

_‘Yes, my lord, I agree that most ‘true challenges’ are suicidal by default.’_

“They bicker like children, do they not?" The Fifth Eye's grating tenor pierces the tension in the tent, and all eyes landed on the Crimson Spear. "I uh... meant only to say welcome, welcome to our guest the Fatebinder!" The armoured retainer bowed with rushed inelegance, then rose to a salute. "And not a moment too soon!”

_‘Certainly lord Archon... I understand it would be noticeably less fun otherwise...’_

Ponirya stepped forward, pressed her hand to her chest and bowed to both of them. “If my lord Archons are just about done…?” Sure, provoke them some more. How much worse can things get for her anyway? “I come bearing the words from the Overlord.”

“Show some respect, Fatebind-...”

“Ah! The Firestarter has arrived! Welcome, welcome! Our agents tell us such lovely stories of what you did at the Vellum Citadel!” The madman cut in on the Iron Marshal and it was like staring directly into a brazier of jade flames, leaping in a crazed dance, taking in her entire field of vision. “Have you come bearing another fragment of Kyros' wrath in tow?” The Archon asked beneath the resonance of thousands of other timbres, crammed into an ugly, many-faced helmet now tilting curiously towards her.

Well, he was obviously aware of what was coming, so why send Verse?

“Fatebinder, we've been waiting for you,” came from the other side of the tent, from under the stormy eyes and thick beard. It couldn't have sounded any more like an accusation if he had pointed that giant hammer of his at her while he said it.

“My apologies. The garrison in Edgering ruins was in the process of falling apart.” It was fun seeing how much of her provoking they would allow, but with a bitter taste in her mouth, she turned to her actual task – the one that had her come all the way south. “I am indeed here to proclaim Kyros' Edict. The valley was sealed in preparation for this moment.”

“For a second time, brother Tunon selects you for the glory of proclamation... you should be honoured. Tell us – what has the Overlord decided to unleash upon the oathbreakers?”

She didn’t dare look at the Archon of War, instead keeping her eyes firmly locked to the scroll, for the fear of an accidental grin giving away the surprise. Not just the oathbreakers, everyone was to partake in this misery.

This was the part she really hated. Stilling her hand, she pulled out the ornate scroll with a heavy seal. Like unyielding chains, she could feel the magic crawl up her arms, as if trying to seize her throat in a possessive vice-like grip – a vessel for the Overlord’s power. The magic of an Edict was alive, and that was something never to be forgotten.

The earth swayed with each word she uttered – the air thickening with warmth as she pronounced the tersely-phrased commandment, its every syllable drafted by the hand of Kyros.

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_“Those who defy Our just and lawful Order are traitors to Our Empire. Those who fail in their duty to bring justice to traitors are, in Our eyes, equally treasonous. Let Our armies prove their good faith by retaking Vendrien's Well from those who defy Our Will. Unless Our representative holds the Hall of Ascension on Our Day of Swords, all in the valley of Vendrien's Well shall perish.”_

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Tossing her hood back and letting her hair messily fall about her face, Ponirya made her way out of the tent and let out a deep sigh once she was a fair distance from it, allowing herself to sit on the crates. She could still feel the scroll turning to ash in her hands with each word spoken, releasing the power contained within.

She could hear the birds empty from the forest nearby, the thumps mixed with the splashing of a waterfall. Except-… there was no waterfall and, if she remembered her maps, the river and the forest were not exactly around the corner... She was in the middle of an army camp and those were the only sounds her ears should care about.

Rushing blood pulsed at Ponirya’s temples and neck. She was not certain what she was to expect from reading the Edict the second time. Few survived to leave an account behind. Many didn’t. She expected to be sick – if not on death’s door – after channelling Overlord’s energy, and certainly her head swam and vision was blurred, but other than general nausea and hearing things that were not there she felt… oddly fine. Better than fine. Invigorated, even. She felt better rested than she did in days, her limbs feeling light and strong and ready.

No, definitely not what was mentioned when tales were spun of those who died quick and horrible, or through a slow and painful death after proclaiming their _first_ Edict. It was a continent worth of difference between the burning she felt scratching her lungs, a permanent reminder from the Edict of Fire of which even a year later she wasn’t free of.

Her eyes kept darting left and right, her muscles straining under the unnatural excess of energy.

Off to the side of the training grounds and past the empty wooden cages was a smith, and not one of the Forge-Bound at that, beating furiously against the metal. There was something like a rhythmic echo in her head coming from the forge. Bronze. Yes, there was more bronze than iron surrounding him. While there had always been a good amount of bronze and leather mixed in, iron was what the Disfavored were known for. Every Disfavored soldier possessed at least one piece of iron equipment. At this point, it was a well-known fact.

Ahead, clawing through the rhythm of the forge she heard Iron Marshal Erenyos, field commander of the Disfavored, pounded her fist in the air as she called out to the warriors on the training field.

“Don’t just coddle the impact, push back with your shield, take the momentum!”

Charged with the duties of leadership, logistics, and training, it was only logical that this was where she ran to after the magic of the Edict filled the tent. Maybe overlooking the youngest among the troops had a calming effect, as she had seen Nunoval do it often enough.

A squadron of soldiers gathered in files as their commander barked orders. Armour crunched, crisp as each salute they responded with. In front of her, young recruits sparred on a training ground. Their thrust and parry kicked up sand while a senior office shouted corrections from the perimeter. Swords or spears swiped, sliced, jabbed, butted. Shields rose to meet each strike. This army was an unstoppable military juggernaut that crushed all resistance since their inception. Much of this was due to the leadership and abilities of Archon Graven Ashe, but it was also due to the quality of the Disfavored soldiers and their training.

Every so often, she would spot one of the youngest looking towards those waiting in formation, wearing a mixture of awe, pride, and nerves on their faces.

There were more of little things like that – little details that kept poking at her mind. What else was going wrong with this camp?

She heard footsteps, soft and practiced, before she saw her. Witnessing the Proclamation of an Edict was no small matter. The spectator might not be as in a bad position as the reader (they would likely not catch the mild case of ‘dying’) but they were certainly not spared all the effects. The Fury had hightailed, slightly pale and green in the face, from the tent the moment Nerat was done ordering her to ‘watch over their precious guest’.

Well, it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to looking over her shoulder by now.

“Hard to stomach, isn’t it,” Ponirya chuckled, her pulse still a stampede and the muscles in her legs, worn from a long trip down the mountains, feeling renewed – the tired limbs now nearly buoyant with vigour.

Verse looked at her with a curiosity of a wild cat and oddly without any underlying menace, as she handed her a wineskin. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Ponirya’s eyes rose to the sky. Birds were already flying from the camp, carrying missives, and some were heading to Court, she knew. Obviously, not every living thing was sealed in the valley – which also meant that Edict was being selective. Just not selective enough. Did Kyros want everyone dead?

“You just cast an Edict as casually as reading a supply shipment. How did you do that?”

“I am well versed in doing both.” The wine still had a piss-poor taste. “And I’ve done it before.” Slaves hulled and toiled away at supplies and equipment with a nervous pace that their malnourished bodies struggled to maintain. Their eyes filled with fear whenever a Disfavoured rushed by them, forcing another bout of strength out of their bony forms. Against her better judgment, Ponirya’s eyes followed their movements, quickly scanning the faces.

No. The one she was looking for wasn’t here. So far.

“You cast the Edict of Fire on the Vellum Citadel. I heard about it – how Kyros’s anger raised a volcano from under the Sages’ own fortress. That... that was some impressive work.”

A planned waste of her life was what it was, and one she resented. Ponirya shrugged and looked at the near-empty wineskin in her hand. They’ll need to resupply before they head out, and they’ll need to head out as soon as possible.

“This all makes a crazy kind of sense. Considering how long the siege has taxed the armies, I can understand why Kyros would send you with an Edict to speed things along. The wholesale execution of ‘both enemies and allies’ part... that I didn’t expect.”

“The Overlord never does things halfway.” The fatebinder took a swing, emptying the sack. “So are you stuck with me, or am I stuck with you now?”

“Eh, both. Neither. We’ll be cracking some skulls, won’t we?”

“As far as I’m aware, it’s still wartime.” Her eyes narrowed at the pair of purple-clad men who looked like they were in the middle of some serious disagreement. “What is going on there?” She pointed the broad-shouldered soldier – although, with their imposing iron armour and pauldrons, they all looked broad-shouldered – and thought that there might be a faint chance that it was Ceveus talking to an earthshaker.

“Oh, you’re going to love this! The ‘iron-clad pride of Kyros’ managed to lose their mages.”

“Lose? Lose like-...”

“Like a pissing recruit losing his weapon. And, you know, dying horribly afterward.”

“Oh.” Great. As gracefully as her overloaded senses allowed her to, she arranged her hair into some semblance of order. “Congratulations, Verse. We are barely a quarter of an hour into the Edict and you’ve already found more asses for us to wipe.”

“Excuse me, but... _us_ , binder?”

“You’ll have me kill all those people all alone?”

“Hey, you point, I kill. Sure. Works. Ass wiping... no.”

“Give the situation we’re in, it amounts to the same thing.”

Her expression turned close enough to that of a very frustrated berserker throwing a tantrum. “Are we really going to clean up after Ashe’s brats? They wouldn’t do that for us.”

Maybe it was the analogy that sat wrong with the young Chorus member, but the fatebinder expected all this and more problems to sort once she reached her camp.

Ponirya looked up at the Fury with bright eyes and something that looked like a smile, but wasn’t really. “Do you want to live through this Edict? Be honest.”

“Shit,” was Fury’s eloquent reply. She looked around and her eyes narrowed at what passed for the training grounds in the camp. “Hey, remember that one really sober guy I told you about? Come. I have a dire need to ridicule him right now.”

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	3. Act 1 / Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

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_The 26th of every span is Kyros' Day. It is a day of holiday and rest for all within the Overlord's Empire. Each Kyros' Day is the last day of the span and is referred to by the span's name. Kyros' Day of Swords, therefore, is the 26th day of the Span of Sword. And, as luck would have it, they just had eight days before the 26th arrived._

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In contrast to the Disfavored, who were orderly to a fault, the Scarlet Chorus have chosen to take residence within the decayed walls of an old fortress, cutting on all the time they would otherwise spend on raising reinforced walls. A small bridge hung over a trough filled with indiscernible filth, served as the only entrance into the camp. It was currently the base of operations for the Voices of Nerat's campaign in the valley, and a home away from home that was the, aptly named, Cacophony.

The Chorus had the reputation of matching the bustle and tussle of Bastard City's bazaar during its peak hours (not that she'd know anything about from personal experience, given her continuous absence from the city but she had heard good things). Instead of merchants and customers, it was packed full by horde members in the middle of gambling, infighting, arguing, merrymaking, and stealing. Borderline mayhem was the only way to properly channel what Nerat's forces were at their core.

Most of the 'soldiers' in the Scarlet Chorus were little more than farmers and children armed with rusted forks. It made them easier to control. Even the guards sitting by the gate of their camp yawned, yearning for either sleep or entertainment to break up the monotony. In their lethargy, they failed to register the sounds of approaching footsteps until too late – that being that less than three tall figures walked by. One in stately uniform bearing the insignia of Tunon, the other a mishmash of stitched armour types and one a walking mountain of swords.

The two guards scrambled to their feet, hands searching for weapons on their persons. "This is Chorus territory! What do you want, maggots?" The younger, more hot-headed of the two shouted but it was already too late – the group already moved into the camp proper.

"Despicable."

"What? It's not like one of Vendrien's dogs is going to walk straight up to the front gate."

"You cannot honestly be defending the lack of discipline on this scale."

"What's there to defend? They'll both likely be face down in a ditch come tomorrow."

Ponirya kept walking, knowing there was truth to Verse's words. If not tomorrow, then at the very next battle.

There were prisoners tied to the posts at the centre of the camp. Very different from how the orderly army of the Disfavored would throw their prisoners into small cages and often forget about them. And that just made her think of all the information they have lost during the Conquest, and how it could have been avoided. Fifth Eye was there, and by observing his posture and wholly bloody hands, obviously having fun. No sign of Nerat (maybe she ought to thank Overlord for this small mercy), so the second in command would have to do. She marched straight towards the madman, Barik in tow. The iron soldier looked as uncomfortable as he probably felt. Verse, on the other hand, was at home.

Ponirya shook her head, pushing the hood further up. This was one of those things she wasn't looking forward to. "I swear, Fifth Eye gets barmier every time I speak to him."

"He's odd as fuck because he's an Eye – not because he's a Crimson Spear."

The Spears by themselves were already a cold, determined bunch. Now, _Eyes_... those were a breed apart – owning to a fraction of the Archon of Secrets' madness being infused in them. Or so the story went. For all anyone knew, Nerat could've just tortured them straight into madness the old fashioned way.

"It sounds exactly like any other Archon's court." The Fatebinder grumbled, emptying another skin of what passed for wine. Her mouth was still dry and she felt like she could drain a whole lake and still not quench the thirst. Maybe even Matani river. From all the things she's been hearing, that would be very useful right about now. Even now it felt as if there was a sound of flowing water just outside of the edge of her senses.

"At least with the gang bosses you know where you stand."

"With your foot at their throat, or your head between their legs?"

The Fury let out a chortle. "Binder, if I didn't know better I'd think you've got some hands-on experience with inner workings of the gangs."

"Verse, there's isn't a concept that the Court hadn't already explored, implemented, perfected and ditched, long before other Archons even thought of it."

They barley approached when the crowned figure turned towards the group with a flourish.

"The Binder of Tunon arrives!"

The screaming didn't stop, and it was difficult to say where exactly it was coming from, but Fifth Eye certainly did his best to outshout it. Handfuls of dirt covered up blood splatters and pools left on the ground. Drag marks and footprints smeared any exposed leftovers, made in a hurried attempt to clean up.

"And we _just_ finished having a bit of sport with some captives. But worry not, we'll have more fun with another batch momentarily." Dressed in the bronze-red regalia of the Crimson Spears, the Fifth Eye beckoned her to stand close, wagging a blood-spattered glove. "Now that you have issued this Edict and doomed us all to die, have you come to help us climb out of this hole?" Chirps of laughter emanated from under his mask.

"I see the possibility of you proving your competence by climbing out on your own does not sound appealing? No? Well, in that case, yes – I will have to do just that, so if you wish for my 'help', my 'assistance', you should kindly make a point."

"But of course, you are Tunon's concubine, not mine. I hope you will grace us with your prowess – if only to set the example for the rabble."

"Dear me, Fifth Eye, I barely walked into your camp and already I hear slander? Against officer of the law no, less?"

"It is? With a leash as long as yours I would have thought it all truth and nothing but the truth! But it must be if you say so. I should probably apologize promptly, yes?"

"I am certain that one as well educated by the Archon of Secrets himself, knows that adding some kernel of truth helps the lie go down." And stay down. Good lie shouldn't be questioned much. Looking around she spotted several furies were overlooking the training grounds – what passed for training grounds among the Chorus. "How are your people handling the Edict?"

"With mewling, bawling, the occasional orgy, frequent vomits." Shrill, tittering laughter escaped from under his mask. "The blood lust is there, but so is the fear of failure. Should our glorious horde fail to overrun the Citadel, we will surely all perish. I mean, I don't see the Disfavored pulling their weight."

Even armoured as he was, she could feel Barik tense behind her. Yet he had it enough in him to hold back. Perhaps his constant banter with Verse's sharp tongue did enough to temper him.

"They've pointed me in your direction with information that you require some... assistance. I'd say they pulled their weight enough in this case."

There was a hiss behind the mask. And it was anything but human. "I'm hurt. Insult my manners or maturity, but do not insinuate that I sit idle when there's blood to be shed! As you've said then, we might have to rise up to the challenge." The Crimson Spear clapped his fists together. "We have dealt with countless oathbreakers, but one group remains at large despite our best efforts. Captain Pelox's crew consistently evades or kills our own gangs." He pressed his bloodied fingers together, the staff leaning against the crook of his elbow. His posture radiated more smugness than a mortal man with a mask on his face should be able to. "We'd very much like to have him."

"You are all but asking me to recruit an oathbreaker in your stead." In the shadows of her hood, her eyes widened when she managed to spot a glint of gold peeking from one of the tents. Which resulted in one solid 'ah, shit' thought. If the Archon of Song was around than a whole lot of her involvement just got even more redundant.

"That is our way! We offer redemption even to those who have harmed us. Captain Pelox Florian is one of the finest warriors the Vendrien Guard have left. It is double the injury to take from your foe while adding to your own clan. Now," placing his staff in a vaguely threatening way against her shoulders, he guided her towards the erect poles dominating the centre of the camp. "We know the oathbreakers are focused in the citadel beneath the Mountain Spire, but we have learned this is not their only nest." The Fifth Eye wagged a hand in the air with a high-pitch squeal of displeasure. "Given their pattern of attacks, they must have a second group maintaining camp here in the outer valley. And unless we deal with this second group, they'll attack from behind the moment we cross the river. An absolutely _horrid_ prospect!"

"A second squad?" she hummed. "You expect a surprise attack. And yet, the oathbound know nothing of it."

"What would they even know? Head through the wall – isn't that their way."

"Yet you only have hints of what may happen. An idea. An inkling. A well-educated guess-…"

"We understand your point, _Fatebinder_ , but we know with certainty that it exists. And that they will attack, putting at risk our joint assault on the river crossing. Does it not make us reliable allies, making sure the oathbreakers are crushed? All we need is the location of the camp." He whispered and giggled at the same time.

Ponirya crossed her arms. "Well, so long it's only that. The size is really not important so long as you can poison the well."

"Well said, yet not good enough," he cocked his head. "Surely you of all people realize that time is of the essence right now."

"How do you know it exists?"

"My last group of scouts returned with a new batch of prisoners," he pointed at the people tied to the poles. Well, two of them. Others were nicely dead by now, with dogs feeding on their remains, dragging the entrails and occasional bone this way and that. "And one of these prisoners claims she can lead us to the Vendrien Guard's secondary camp – though there are shreds of deception in her voice. This one," a woman in the makeshift armour of the Vendrien Guard lurched forward in agony. Her soiled, trembling legs suggested she had been forced to stand for days. Bloody glove pulled at the hair of the woman tied to the pole, revealing a face that had no chance of ever looking as before Fifth Eye had laid his hands on her, "was hollering earlier that she knew the location of the Vendrien Guard encampment – but she isn't being entirely honest..."

Of the two that were alive – one was of Chorus. On the surface at least. An oathbreaker in chorus paint, really. And the other – a sage. Those were hard to mistake for anyone else. His skin being covered with all manner of script, some fresh, others faded, was too much of a giveaway.

"I see that you've already started – and ended the interrogation."

"Not to worry, Fatebinder. We've left some in one piece especially for you. If you'd like to see to extracting information personally."

Fifth Eye was taunting her. This didn't look like it required Nerat's personal touch, but it was odd that Fifth Eye would shy away from using some of his more obscure methods to make the oathbreaker talk. If this second force was substantial enough to be detrimental to the success of the attack, than all this felt indeed very lacklustre. It was difficult for her to believe that anyone in this campaign was taking things seriously. And now with the Edict around their collective necks, they were trying to make up for so much of the lost time. _She_ was trying to make up for their lost time.

"I could use your help questioning her – perhaps you will get less screams and tears and more useful information out of her. If we knew where to ambush the oathbreakers, we could try and take their Captain, and show him the wisdom of joining the Chorus."

Ponirya kept her face neutral – a Fatebinder's tool of trade (unless you were Calio and neutral was replaced by a perpetual smirk).

"And now _I_ am to speak with the prisoner," she flippantly waved at the woman.

"I told this... thing..." the prisoner turned pale a moment, before a look of determination came over her face, "that I wanted a guarantee I'd live and be welcomed into the Chorus as a captain – then I'll talk. Otherwise, they'll kill me once I've opened up. I was dumb enough to join the Vendrien Guard but I'm not dumb enough to give away my bargaining bronze."

She looked like she hoped that would finally be the end of it, but Ponirya crouched down to her eye level.

"No, no, no. We are still not done yet. You are still stapled to that pole, I'm afraid, my friend, and your life depends on you telling me what I need to know."

"I heard the Chorus looking for Captain Pelox Florian and his crew. I can lead you to them but only if you release me." She turned her head, taking a long look at skewered and smouldering corpses around her. She tugged at her restraints but to no avail. The Fatebinder sighed, waiting. "...check the boots..." the woman managed finally, pulling away from that steady stare.

With a snap of his fingers, a pair of Choirmen yanked the boot off the fallen Guardsman. A rolled parchment slid out of the boot and is thrust into the Fifth Eye's hands. He unfurled the scroll to give it a read.

"And this is?" Ponirya asked.

"It means nothing to me," the prisoner hissed through her broken lip.

"Well, it should. Because if it means nothing to you, it can't mean anything to me. And if that is the case... then what we have is a case of miscommunication."

"It's nonsense – just a mash of words." Laughter erupted from under the mask. "She said she had information and she gives us garbage! Slay this wretch for wasting our time." He snapped his fingers at a nearby Scarlet Fury, who promptly snatched a long knife from her belt.

"Make the cut shallow – give her time to regret toying with me."

The Scarlet Fury sliced open the woman's neck. Pinned to her final resting post, the Vendrien Guard soldier trashed and flailed for several long moments before bowing her head in death. Ponirya sighed, rubbing her eyes with some very crude and strongly-worded expletives were running through her head.

"We're no closer to finding the oathbreaker's position, not with this cryptic mess. She promised us answers and she gave us was gibberish!"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I highly doubt it's gibberish. More likely, it is one of the local scripts." The voice came from another prisoner tied up next to 'twice the traitor' – an older gentleman with the quills, ink vials, and parchment scrolls one finds on the Sages of the School of Ink and Quill. Ink smudges covered his cheeks, temples, and ears. His clothes appeared charred, and between the rips of the fabric she spotted burn scars along his arms. Despite being emaciated and tied to a post, he offered a beaming smile.

Taking the message from the Fifth Eye, Ponirya unrolled the parchment and saw a message of modest length written with professional, albeit hasty, penmanship. The Tiersmen spoke the Canto just like the Northerners, but they had a half dozen different ways of writing it – this particular script was unknown to her.

"I'm Sage Lantry - one of the hired quills that was coordinating missives between the Vendrien Guard captains. They aren't paying me anymore and aren't coming to my rescue, so I'll decipher that parchment for you. That's what smart prisoners do, right? Make themselves useful?"

She brought the parchment before his face. "Can you read this?"

"Well let me see...I can't... umm... hmmm...Uh-huh..." She held the parchment in front of the bound Sage and his eyes darted down the length of the missive. He read the words a second time, nodding in silence. "So... I don't know exactly what it says but... I'm half certain that's Sage Selwin's handwriting. I'm sure I could decipher that in a few hours' time. Don't _need_ my hands free, but... I think better when not tied to a post. I know, I'm weird that way." The old man could see the air tense around the masked spear and hastened his explanation, "I would love to help, I just need some time! That's written in another Sage's shorthand, I'd have to sit down with it or, better yet, compare it to a piece of his writing I have stashed on me somewhere. If I sat down with it while sufficiently sober, it's highly probable I'd figure it out."

"Sober? Since when do we share the good stuff with the prisoners?" Verse all but piped in over Ponirya's shoulder.

"Oh nobody shared. Right before I was taken prisoner I imbibed several vials of reagents. I wanted to be numb and disconnected when my captors used me for carnal catharsis. It's made these last few days tied to a post almost enjoyable."

"A few hours? Either you can read it or you cannot! What use is a Sage that doesn't know his letters! I've heard all I need to hear... I say we have some fun with this one."

Fifth Eye was itching for a fight – perhaps even using his own hands to strangle the sage. This went beyond the usual madness of Nerat's second in command. He was happy to waste recourse and a potential source of information. More importantly, in the Chorus, Sages were never killed outright – not before being put to work, drained of all potential secrets they could hold. Nerat was fond of all secrets – great and small.

Ponirya arched an eyebrow as she looked over at the gangly man, "Are you quite certain of that, because I will be very sorry if you end up dying."

"Not as sorry as I'll be," he let out a breathy chuckle. He was very much too lightheaded to be processing this whole situation with a sufficient amount of dread. Her head tilted to the side, looking at the still dying woman and her eyes narrowed.

"You're right. We should work on altering that." She rose to her feet, her lips quirked up. "Untie him, give him a chance to translate."

"You read the Edict, I don't need to tell you the sundial is working against us! This addled old bag is just trying to stall us."

"You told me, not ten minutes ago, how much you'd delight in the idea of having Pelox Florian in your possession." A pause. "Custody – for the whole purpose of _persuading_ him to join the fold."

"Of course I would!" He let out a wicked chuckle as he turned to her. "His information could be worth a great deal – and for that, I'm willing to give him a trial by combat. If he were being brazenly deceptive, I'd just have him killed... but he's earned his shred of hope."

"We need the prisoner alive, this is a terrible idea."

"When is a trial by combat ever a terrible idea?" The Fifth Eye chuckles a hearty laugh, waving his hand dismissively. "If you are worried for his safety, fight on his side – the more bloodshed, the more certain the verdict. You are our guest, the least you could do is honour our ways."

"Clearly you need an education in Scarlet Chorus justice. Anything that satisfies their sick amusement is fair play. If the conquest is any judge, there are no limits to their depravity."

"Did Graven Ashe castrate you during recruitment, or do you just not know the meaning of the word 'fun'? I'm actually curious."

With Verse and Barik at her back, it was like having a walking logbook to continuously remind her two very different philosophies on... pretty much anything and everything happening in this valley. Petty arguments with unruly second-in-command included.

With a shake of his head, the Fifth Eye gave her a shrug. "Is it not obvious? If he is a true enemy of the Overlord, he will perish by our blades. If he can survive then he is strong, and the strong lead, thus his crimes will not be crimes, but simply the actions of the mighty. What's not to understand? This isn't alchemy."

Ponirya took in a deep breath. She had less than seven days to make sure she survived the Edict and here she was dealing with a carnival. "Release this prisoner at once, I'm taking him into my custody."

"Not a chance – he's our prisoner!" Fifth Eye held his ground, posture growing violent. "If you think you can crack the information we need out of his skull without troubling the Archon, that's one thing... but you're not walking out of here with our property."

"True..." Because arguing with a Fatebinder about particulars of law was always a good idea... Truly, there were beasts with a smile more pleasant than the one Ponirya wore. "But by Kyros' law, he could swear fealty to me and become my sworn vassal – my property."

"A most clever technicality!" The old man, still perfectly tied to the post interjected. "And I would happily serve the Archon of Justice's warrior... especially if it means getting out of this mess without a perforated lung."

"Silence old man! Good luck bowing to the Fatebinder with your head pulled from your neck!" The Fifth Eye jabbed a finger at her. "The Chorus earned this prisoner right and proper. If you wish to rob from me, go ahead... but all will know you are the sort of Fatebinder to take as you please."

She grabbed him by the mask, leather ties holding it to his malformed face giving away under pressure when she pulled him up close and personal.

"Did you just tell me, an officer of the law... no?"

He let out a whimpering squeal, gloved hands pressing against her but try as he might, his push could not exceed her pull.

"Release the prisoner to me and I won't shame and degrade you in full view of your followers." There was... certainty to her voice – not a threat, not even a promise. More akin to a fact of life. Under the pressure of her grip, the poorly made excuse of armour started to bend and whine, having Fifth Eye only redouble his efforts to free himself.

He grunted and stammered as he struggled to wrest free from her grip. "Yes yes!" Once she did release him, he shuffled away trying to regain his composure. Dusting himself off with one hand, he waves to two nearby conscripts with the other. "You two! Release the Sage. He's Fatebinder's problem now."

The Sage was unbound from the post, with stiff legs nearly buckling as he attempted to walk, and his arms flexed and flailed in their new freedom. Wiping sweat and grime from his brow, he stepped close to her with a nervous smile.

"Thank you, I thought I was going to wind up as another corpse on that pile. Now hand me that parchment, the sooner I can find out what it says, the sooner I can get out of this place!"

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Lantry looked like someone who had been dragged through hot coals for days now. Knowing the Chorus, it wasn't the most unlikely of fates. With the sage pouring over the missive and then the map, he still looked livelier than one would expect of a prisoner, what with red-clad murderers ready and willing to feed him to the dogs. Or each other. And that would be one of the more merciful deaths.

She could do little else but walk around the camp while the sage dealt with translation. Ponirya noticed something, and the Edict was responsible for it. Or perhaps it was her manhandling of Nerat's second-in-command that contributed to it.

Tense quietness stifled the camp, there was less sound than even the Disfavoured at rest. The softest of crackling fire reached ears over the guttural snores of beastmen and agonizing moans from dying slaves. Gangs sat in huddled circles, repairing tattered leather armour or decorating them with the same red pigment painted on their skin. A couple of Furies examined their weapons, flipping them back and forth. Torchlight glinted off the blades. Blood chanters and their Hounds paced softly, muttering strategies. Anyone that made eye contact with the Fatebinder twitched, like a surprised cat on the prowl, before giving a respectful nod. Although she had many, Ponirya made no attempt to ask questions. They were as likely to run away as they were to tell a white lie.

Shadows were thick around the edges of the camp, but so far she couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary. She could feel eyes on her. Shadowed? Angry? No, very thick disapproval at best. Over the years, she had learned to discern many different facets of negative emotions steaming towards her.

It wasn't that long (and certainly not hours) when Lantry called out to her, not really wanting to move too far away from the iron fortress that was Barik.

"Well, much of the parchment was weathered, but I could make out the important parts of the text. The note makes mention of a meeting spot west of Tripnettle," old hands handed the parchment back. It was now crisscrossed with new words, underlines lines, possible meanings and an... equation...? Was that...geometry?

"So the old Sage knows his words after all?" Fifth Eye called from what was expected to be a safe distance from her. "I'd ask that you travel ahead and see if you can't get this Captain Florian to yield to the Chorus. They will strike at first sight of a Chorus gang, but perhaps they will parlay if yours is the face they see."

"I know the area, and I suggest we go at once." The Sage interjected, and in quite the opposition to Crimson Spear decided that the only safe spot in the camp was the one nearest to the Fatebinder. "I'll show you the way – I'm eager to be far from the stench of this camp."

"You're offering to come with me? Why?"

"Because the alternative is... what? Living here with these illiterate brutes? My old study is under a river of fire and there's no family missing me."

She glanced at the old man, bruised and bloody and battered, so eager to leave this place and nodded. Her eyes turned back to the Crimson Spear. "Cheer up Fifth Eye. I'll have Captain Pelox delivered for you to play with. That should sufficiently balance out the joy I've been 'sucking out of your camp' every time I make an appearance."

A low growl rumbled from underneath his mask as he mulled over her comment. "He better be in pristine condition. I intend for him to last at least a fortnight." And then, like a shift, an unintelligible mutter escaped from under the Fifth Eye's mask as his posture stiffened. "And Fatebinder, one last thing – the Voices still has not forgotten how you handed over our agents to the Disfavored just before the Burning Library sparked into being. We would be a fool to believe that Tunon sent us an impartial Fatebinder but... perhaps you will prove our Master wrong..."

Her face revealed nothing as she held her head high, eyes only a hint of glare. There was less Fifth Eye in his voice, and more Nerat. "Had you found my ruling faulty at the time, you were at liberty to file a complaint directly to Adjudicator himself." Naturally, the Archon of Secrets knew better than to do that – because Nerat's informants among the Sages were less that, and more 'food for thought'.

Fifth Eye moved languidly, almost like a puppet. "Perhaps we shall... once we see how this time goes."

Ponirya tsked, hood back in place casting a shade over her eyes. And somehow, despite all the evidence to contrary, everyone was still under this delusion that she was on good terms with the Chorus.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit. Not simply because other things happened, but because I was looking for a beta with an interest in this game who could potentially catch all the plotholes and inconsistencies. This is planned as an old-school game walkthrough type of fic, a long one at that, and there will be an in-game dialogue present - so having someone to look through all that would've been helpful. Things being what they are, I've decided to finish Act 1 (this overly long introduction), before moving on.
> 
> The rest of Act 1 should be posted soon-ish... It's mostly done, a few bits of editing here and there.
> 
> Thank you all who read, and maybe even enjoy this scrambled mess of a story.


	4. Act 1 / Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

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_Ponirya, Word has reached this court that you have issued the Overlord's Edict to the Archons of War and Secrets. Know that we understand fully the weight of this burden and appreciate the loyalty you show in its declaration. Provided you survive this span, your service will be duly recognized. As you navigate the idiosyncrasies and mutual antipathy of our Overlord's warmasters, remember that Kyros watches all with interest. Those who distinguish themselves, whether Fatebinder or Archon, have the opportunity to rise in the Overlord's esteem. Even now the northern courts whisper that the more successful of the two Archons will be granted rule over the whole of the peninsula. Similarly, your fortunes rest upon the decisions you make. Choose wisely._

_\- Tunon the Adjudicator, Archon of Justice._

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Ponirya was staring – no, glaring – at the missive in her hand as if the parchment itself had somehow grievously offended her. Which it did, in fact. The words written on it were incredibly offensive – a repeated slap in the face. The well-written kind of words, the kind of only Tunon was capable of.

Night had caught them on their way to Tripnettle – night and a messenger bird – and they made their camp under the trees of the sparse forest and thick bushes. Well, others did, Ponirya was too busy radiating rage at the sheer audacity of-...

"Keep glaring like that and you'll start a fire," the Fury called from across the campfire.

' _It might catch fire either way,'_ Ponirya mused darkly, deciding all the pros and cons of tossing it into the campfire.

Again. He fucking did it _again_. There was a whole region worth of distance between them and he _still_ managed to rile her up. If she could set the Court, and everyone in it, on fire from a safe distance and without arousing any suspicion... she would have well done it already.

The carrier bird was off to the side and patiently waiting for either a dismissal or a note to return with. She suspected she ought to give _some_ _kind_ of response, least the Adjudicator takes grievous insult at her silence, and she was in a foul enough mood to write an equivalent of returning the favour. She might come to regret later, but by then the Edict will either have killed her, or she would have completed her task spectacularly.

With the ways things were going, she was being tasked with more than just helping Kyros' forces fight back the rebel assault – getting involved in border skirmishes with oathbreakers, cleaning up the collective mess both the Disfavored and the Scarlet Chorus left in their wake... Of that much she was aware from the start, she had merely underestimated the scope of how bad the situation really was. There was no legal loophole she could think of as to why her involvement would not be required and... it was too late to agonize about it now. Not that it stopped her.

It was on their way back from trying to locate the lost mages in some asscrack of the map somewhere in the That was where the messenger bird had found her. Near the eastern mountain range. There was a clearing in the north part of the forest there –the North-eastern Pass. Useful as they were in tearing down the walls, locating the lost arcane reinforcements proved to be a waste of time. It should've meant that Radix was coming along for the hunt yet the man was nowhere to be seen in the entirety of Vendrien's Well and he was certainly not with the small contingent of mages they've found. Even had he relocated, some signs should show or he should've headed directly towards Ashe's camp on his own. Now, not only did the revelation that Radix had decided not to answer the summons of the Archon of War and show up for this very important moment, but to top that – Tunon had decided to lecture her. And threaten her.

The missive pissed her off more. Still, it was better to let the others think it was the misbehaving of Radix that had her wanting to level anything in her path.

"Radix's behaviour is up to Graven Ashe to judge," she said finally. If she lived through this, she could already guess what her next case might entail. Not her ideal way of payback, but she could work with it. "From a purely tactical standpoint, what few mages have arrived should be enough to help break the walls around the keep."

"Until someone takes a cheap shot at them from those same walls."

"Yes, well, let's leave troop positioning to Iron Marshal and Fifth Eye. Kyros knows they'll need _something_ _constructive_ to do during this campaign."

"I'll grant you that the Chorus' lack of meaningful discipline makes it easy to insult, but certainly the fervour of Iron Marshal cannot be in doubt."

Verse chuckled at the Barik's unseen but easily imagined expression.

"Insults? I'm thinking you're hearing a lot of things that are not actually there." Ponirya extended her hand towards Lantry, wagging her fingers lightly, "May I borrow some of that sepia ink?"

The old man looked at her, a tad surprised even. "You realise, I'm certain, that these don't have the same effect once they dry..."

"'Tis alright. I doubt it would have any even if it were freshly mixed." Otherwise, she'd drench the parchment in red one.

She scribbled her answer as the group shared some supplies around the small fire. It didn't take her long – she was angry enough, and with an Edict hanging over her head like a guillotine. Her words should get a point across well enough. She attached it to the bird, who looked properly refreshed for a way back.

"So, how are you planning to handle this?" Verse asked, testing her blades as she looked up at the fatebinder.

Ponirya cocked her head, looking away from the starry night sky where the messenger bird disappeared into. Priorities. "We need to deal with the supposed second force and then take the Crossing." They were going to walk all over the valley in order to mop up this mess. Some things will have to take priority. Using hit-and-run tactics and striking from ambush, the Guard kept a steady stream of small engagements on the outskirts of the Overlord's armies. One could only wonder how long the Guard could keep this up before being destroyed on the anvil of Kyros' might… She folded the map, "Then, if nothing else has collapsed in the meantime, and we have some time to kill, we can pick on less demanding tasks before we move on to the keep proper."

"All that in under seven days. Nothing like an Edict to light the fire under your ass."

Which was the whole point of it, yes.

"It was a fire we could've done without, Verse," Barik growled. "Discipline and proper planning should've been more than enough to win this campaign."

"Sure doesn't look like that to me, otherwise we wouldn't be here."

"The Overlord means to compel the armies into action, no doubt the avalanches in the mountains are part of this ultimatum. We must conquer the oathbreakers or die in failure. There is no room for error, and no other way out of this valley alive."

"And if it was only that, Barik, we wouldn't be here," Ponirya called, seating herself between the Fury and the sage. "Either the insurgency is destroyed and Ascension Hall reclaimed, or Kyros destroys _all_ within the Well. It's not just targeting the Vendrien's Guard. Villagers, settlers, our armies… quite literally _every single living thing_."

"I think we all felt the magic of Edict shackle us, and while I," Lantry coughed, tips of his fingers, and lips, and tongue, covered in colourful ink, "by no means, consider myself an expert in all things 'Kyros', it is easy to imagine the Overlord couldn't possibly be amused by current state of affairs. The Edict, for all the intent and purpose, is the Overlord's way of saying, 'Crush the otathbreakers or die.'" He might have muttered something about 'there being less disastrous ways of getting the point across' but only his beard heard it properly. Scribbles kept going up his arm in a way Ponirya could hardy keep her eyes away from. "Still, it's quite a fascinating sensation. Not entirely different than your work on the Vellum Citadel."

She didn't flinch, but it wasn't a memory Ponirya relished in. She could still feel the burning in her throat and lungs, and could do little else than forcefully ignore the sensation. She could only wonder what kind of scar the Edict of Execution would leave on her.

"I should think that conjuring a volcano is a tad bit different than being magically compelled to die."

And still, she doubted this would be enough to spur the two Archons into joint action. Otherwise she wouldn't be here, solving their problems, with an aging sage and two soldiers watching her every move. Maybe a volcano would've been a better option in this case.

"Getting the two to work together before the Day of Swords is already like pulling teeth. Someone has to deal with the rebels in the meantime, so why not a Fatebinder?"

"Thank you, Verse. Your confidence in my abilities as a Fatebinder to solve all the problems hampering this campaign, bogged down by mutual accusations and bickering of two petulant Archons, will certainly spur me on."

"Any time boss," the Fury smirked, eagerly slapping her back.

"If only the siege didn't last as long as it did... It's hardly fun anymore-..."

Barik seethed, "And I still say that there was some kind of treachery afoot there! Those soldiers are better armed and fed than they have any right to be, especially after our repeated assaults. Somehow, someone is supplying them, and when I find out who, what happened so far will seem like child's play compared to my wrath..."

"Does that have anything to do with the shipment that mustn't be mentioned?"

Barik's armoured head shot up, eyes narrowing at the Court's officer, who was eyeing him with what could pass as an _almost_ innocent interest. He had noticed her do that. Like a bird of prey. Or a hunting bitch. "I am not at liberty to speak of it, Binder. Nor do I know much. And while I agree in full that it is a matter to be looked into, we hardly have the time for it now."

Ponirya bit into the chunk of dried, salted meat. "Technically, the year was omitted from the Edict."

Verse coughed, swallowing her mouthful hastily before barking out a laugh. "Are you shitting me? Tell me you're not shitting me! Is that for real?!"

Ponirya remembered rumours that all the soldiers of the Scarlet Chorus were the eyes of their Archon. Literally. She wondered if this was so? Did the Voices of Nerat right now pull the leash?

The Fatebinder shrugged, "I have nothing to do with the words written in the scroll. I read them. And I did not read a year."

"... _fascinating_..." The sound of scribbling was almost frantic now. Ponirya's eyes barely slid over to where the sage was making sure this entire exchange was well documented.

"Even in a jest it is blasphemy to even suggest such a thing! I refuse to believe that the Overlord would make such an… _omission_!" It was almost as if the word itself had somehow offended the armoured warrior.

"I really doubt it was. True purpose of any Edict is to frighten into submission – in this case, the Archons into finishing what they've started."

There was a 'harumph' from the iron-encased man.

"We can wait until the Day of Swords comes and goes, if you'd like."

Verse, with odd-coloured eyes and a low, ripped voice leaned forward with all the enthusiasm of a toddler ready to tear apart her new toy just to see what's inside. "Yes, please!"

"Verse no!"

"Don't be such a pussy."

"The Overlord's will _must_ be respected ...whether a year is mentioned or not! Besides, with the great General, we have to fear of no delays."

"Really? Was the _great general_ asleep in the past few months-"

The scribbling continued, different colour this time.

Ponirya watched and listened, her eyes growing hooded at their interaction and their increasingly animated argument. For people coming from the opposite sides of the army, there was no bite to it. No venom. The two seemed to have long since settled into a coexistence that was as dysfunctional as a repressed Northern hothead and a borderline psychotic Tierswoman could have.

They've spent the evening talking, exchanging opinions and thoughts on the area. In the early hours of the next day, they would surely reach the oathbreaker camp. There was an element of haste to this war, and not just because of the Edict, but it was doubtful they would choose to abandon their current location this night after how well hidden they've remained for the longest while.

ಠ_ಠ

"You do realize that we're being followed."

They were watched by something and as much as he claimed that the helmet as it was now hindered his eyesight, he was sure he was picking up motions behind them. Resting his hand over one of his weapons, he scowled at not being able to spot anything distinct though.

"Naturally."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"See what they want. It could be interesting. Informative. Useful. Any number of things."

"Tunon's lot has a strange way of looking at the world. Interesting, but weird."

"Not all of them. The one assigned to Disfavored during the conquest of Stalwart was a matter-of-fact and honourable sort. He understood the Great General and the Disfavored."

Ponirya snorted. Of course Nunoval would be praised by the iron army.

"They're on top of us," Verse reached for the weapon, but Ponirya gestured for her to relax.

"It's more that we're on top of them. Lantry?"

"Still pissing. Or shitting."

"So, this is going to be off the record?" Ponirya breathed out a small laugh, walking forward through the bushes and foliage.

"That's far enough, Fatebinder." A woman's voice boomed from atop a nearby outcropping. Flashes of aquamarine body paint could be seen from under her loose-fitting traveller's garb, and her outfit was festooned in braids and knots of sailor's line. Flanked on either side by warriors dressed in Vendrien Guard regalia, the woman leaned on an elaborate, bladed staff pulsing with arcane energy. A swath of blue fabric rested draped over her arm.

"Did the Voices of Nerat send you to gather my head and complete his collection?" It was harsh and just as cold as Ponirya expected an accusation coming from a tidecaster to be. "If so, we'll have to save our tussle for another time – today I have business, vengeance can wait. You may have consigned my School to a fate worse than death, but you have done well by the Vendrien Guard – many of them are alive today thanks to the truce you forged years back. They seem to think you have a trace of nobility in you... here's hoping they are right." The woman bowed deeply, lowering her head in a practiced display of etiquette. The warriors by her side remain in a ready stance, their nerves clearly on edge. "In accordance with ancient customs north and south, I offer and request a delay of blade. There are matters we must discuss without fear of reprisal."

Ponirya nodded. "In accordance with ancient customs north and south, I abide by this truce. Not that I was planning on attacking." She could already see that the tidecaster wasn't really happy with her presence. That whole ordeal was… well, in the end Nerat's was the only happy face that day. It got the job done. She got the job done. She was tasked with bringing a _swift_ conclusion to the conflict – not necessarily the _best_.

"Well, this is quite a nice view you found," she commented. She did mean it though, from here a lot of the land ahead of them was revealed. Old trees, scattered buildings and the Spire in the distance... were the half of it not decimated by war... "What do you wish to speak of?"

"As is our custom, we are ready to kill to defend our lands, but we kill only in fair battle, we don't slay our prisoners. We know this is not Kyros' way, but we must have hope. A few of our kin have gone missing, and though they may have perished, I have to inquire on the off chance they still live. If Captain Tarkis Demos still lives, we would negotiate for his release."

Tarkis Demos, muttering through a mouth full of congealed blood, hanging from his stake – that was the last time she had seen him. He looked like he would last a few days. At that time, it wasn't a compliment of his endurance. After throwing away the peace, she should've let him twitch under the sun. Violating am oath of surrender from two years prior, they have staged a bloody uprising – surprising garrison of both armies in midnight assault. But she granted him a swift death. Death... she was used to. Torture wasn't her thing. Now, his body was one of many lining the poles.

"Tarkis Demos is dead."

"I see. That is as I feared, but thank you for telling me all the same, I prefer closure to wishful thinking. If I may make one more inquiry. What of Pelox Tyrel? Did he survive?"

When Ponirya spoke, her voice was tense. "He is dead."

Tidecaster nodded slowly, saying nothing for a long moment. "My apologies, Fatebinder. I had a terrible feeling this errand was in vain from the start. I had no expectations that our friends could be saved, as I'm sure the time for swapping prisoners is long gone. But at least I know what became of them. That will have to be enough."

"Would you indulge me with a question of my own?"

"We shouldn't be socializing with the oathbreakers."

"Barik..." not turning her back on the delegation, Ponirya looked at the stone-shield, "a Fatebinder absolutely _must_ learn all that she can in order to come to a proper conclusion."

The iron soldier crossed his arms across his massive chest, the sound of metal grinding so out of place in a forest. The tidecaster, at least, seemed patient. And vaguely amused.

"I will entertain them as best as I can. After all, understanding is the only hope we have. What is it you wish to know?"

She didn't respond for a moment. Her head angled back until she looked up at the low hanging clouds. "Were there prisoner swaps in the past?"

"That is our way, Binder. Here in the south, only thugs and bandits kill prisoners. The Younger Realms may be guilty of constant fighting, but we never slay each other when the battle's long over. We're not about to change that now." She looked down and neither of them moved, their posture rigid. "As a rule, Kyros' forces haven't been keen on swapping prisoners, but I know our Disfavored prisoners aren't prisoners anymore – I just assumed they were swapped for some of our own."

So, the Disfavored, proud and devout servants of Kyros, did entertain the notion of swapping prisoners with the savages? They were very keen on preserving the lives of their own, certainly, but that she would be approached so openly meant that this was something of a... regular occurrence. At least, as of late. Her mind focused on the possibility that the rebels have captured a Disfavored soldier of high enough rank to serve their purposes...

All pure speculation, of course...

"Thank you for being forthcoming." It was impossible to tell if Ponirya was sincere or sarcastic. It was as if she picked her sentences with the intent for both to be possible. "My involvement in this campaign has come about recently and I can only give my deepest apologies for not being able to offer any fruitful solutions to end the conflict. Yet, I am delighted to have furthered our understanding of one another."

"Thank you for your kind words. In accordance to our most ancient customs, let us depart in honourable accord. May peace find you, Fatebinder." She bowed deeply, pounding her staff on the ground twice before turning to leave.

As they returned back to the path they've strayed from, Lantry was waiting for them. The old sage scribbling on in a manner that suggested that he had, indeed, heard and written down most of the talk. It was odd how quickly she had gotten used to the sight and sound of it already.

"Hey. Was that really necessary?"

"No. But it couldn't have happened at a better time. We know they're desperate now." Ponirya brushed her fingers across her satchel. "That one of them would come this far to meet with us... and under a blue flag, no less."

"You mean how they've followed us for an ass long time before deciding to talk? Sure. Diplomatic as fuck."

"They must've been checking our course, and have not dared to approach while we were travelling between camps. Deliberately so. Good thing the Sage was otherwise occupied or the tidecaster would've been less forthcoming."

And what she could glean from this short interaction was that the oathbreakers were hurting for their leaders. It couldn't be that they were going to such lengths as to walk up to the Fatebinder with a blue flag... Honestly. She was correct. The Edict had just sped up the already crumbling wheel.

They were falling apart. Which was...

Interesting. Informative. Useful. Any number of things she could use.

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	5. Act 1 / Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

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_Vendrien's Well was the name of the central plateau of the Tiers, a mountain-ringed valley of rivers, flood plains, and scattered farmland once ruled by House Vendrien of the realm of Apex. At the heart of the valley is the Mountain Spire, and at the base of the massive stone structure is an old citadel built centuries ago and largely left unused until recent times. Before the conquest, the Well used to be the remote vineyard and elk hunting grounds of Apex's richest. The term Well is used since the all the rivers rolled down from the ring of mountains and left the soils sprouting year-round. Following the Conquest, it became one of the conquered territories, stripped of its 'realm' name and referred to by its geographic name._

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The grass, soaked in dirt and turned yellow, torn banners and bronze buckles, splinters of broken helmets, shattered potion bottles and broken shafts of arrows were constantly under their feet. They walked amongst the unkempt sward, staying a cautious distance away from the road. The swish of leaves in the wind disguised their footsteps. The wind brought the smell of the dead, then changing, the sweet smoke of the fires.

There was, supposedly, a gang in the region. Verse continued to keep watch over her as they made their way towards Tripnettle. It earned its title from a preponderance of thick, stinging nettles. Though expanding settlers aggressively cleared the plant, the name persisted. Tripnettle was but one of several expansive forests in the valley, easily capable of obscuring rebel movements and operations. With Sage's help they've determined that the Vendrien Guard have operated in this area, making it a prime location to secure.

Barik was glaring at her. Even through the narrow slits of what was now his helmet Ponirya could feel the heavy stare of his eyes. Someone wasn't happy to have her around, and to be in supporting role, no less. He let out a heavy breath and uncrossed his arms – each followed by a grinding sound and wave of smell that could outdo a barn. Even being around army camps and soldiers each day for the past couple of years didn't train her nose for this kind of intensity. Like the need to cover her nose or cough to clear her throat to get some clean air, neither of which would help and not likely to happen from here on.

"Barik, is something bothering you?" Ponirya called from where she was ahead of the heavily armoured man who was keeping to the rear. His footfalls were heavy and loud – not good should they need to pass unnoticed. Luckily, so far, stealth didn't seem to be something they needed to rely on much.

"I have not said anything Fatebinder."

"You sorely underestimate the power of body language. Even one as heavily fortified as yours."

Back in the camp, when he stepped up to her, she had thought him an amalgamation of rusted blades and mismatched pieces of armour fused into a vaguely human shape. He reeked of sweat, feces and whatever oil treatment kept him flexible. With how their lives depended on their weapons and equipment, it was no surprise how diligently Disfavored soldiers ensured that their gear was always well maintained, and that damage to weapons or armour was repaired as soon as possible. In the case of Barik, one wouldn't be at fault thinking that he either taken it to an extreme or had forgotten entirely how to take care of his dearest possession.

"Evidently, you're displeased with this arrangement," she continued. The man was without a cohort since the last battle of Stalwart. The majority of Disfavored fight as part of a slow, inexorable phalanx, with every soldier working as part of a squad. It was very rare for one to fight solo, so this one had to be akin to an abounded cub among the pack.

A grunt. "It's just my luck that I'm assigned to one of Tunon's legal clerks."

"Do you have problems with us legal clerks?" Her eyes turned back to the Spire.

"It is well known that you overthink matters and rarely take into account the best of what Disfavored have to offer." The armoured man regarded the Fatebinder in oppressive silence. "And you have a reputation for acting as if the rules don't apply to you." As if what had happened in the Chorus camp wasn't proof enough. Or the most recent event with the traitors – blue flag or not. Or really, any number of other things she did in the short span of a few days that did not sit well with his values.

"Are you saying that I am biased in favour of the Chorus?" she chuckled. "Clearly you haven't had the pleasure of meeting some of my colleagues." He looked quite uncomfortable if she was any judge of people. But her grin only grew wider, if it was at all possible, and it was sitting well on her face. "For what is worth, I'm honoured to have a member of the iron legion at my side."

He snorted, as if not believing a word coming out of her mouth. So remarkable for a usually direct iron soldier. "The Iron Marshal has tasked me with keeping you alive, and I have no intention of disappointing her. That should be enough assurance for anyone."

If Graven Ashe was a stern, doting father than Iron Marshal Erenyos was the Iron Mother Hen of the Disfavored. The army was a family, and every single soldier in this camp was ready and willing to die for the other. Well, didn't that remind her of something? A very specific way of thinking being drilled into her head, over and over for years…

She tried but couldn't keep a small chuckle from escaping. That's two people now who were ordered to keep her alive and treat her with outmost respect. The 'respect' part was still under question.

"They say that in the Iron Guard, she's 'first among equals'," she heard Verse say from up ahead. "Don't know about you, but that doesn't sound all that 'equal' to me." The dedication and routine of the Disfavored camp was a far contrast from her companion's flippant attitude.

Now, she had a feeling that Barik was assigned to her solely because they had no other place to put him – quite unlike Verse who was there to report back to Nerat. At the very least, Barik seemed to be well acquainted with Verse, so that made things much easier.

"We're here," Verse called, gesturing ahead, "and were not the only ones."

A small group of Chorus soldier, the smallest gang Ponirya had seen really, was loitering around the thick foliage and a makeshift camp. The Chorus warrior pumped his tattooed arm in salute. Midway through the gesture, a look of confusion dawned across his painted face.

"Reinforcements? Finally! Come this way, we need to-... _Sister Verse_? What did I do to deserve such a helpful hand?" A chuckle escaped the man before he shuddered, placing a hand over his mouth – at once alert of the need to remain quiet, his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "The Fifth Eye has a sense of humour sending you."

Verse returned a cold glare, but stayed silent. Curious as she ever was, Ponirya thought it was a hornet's nest worth poking.

"Is it an interesting story at least?"

"Not really." Her glare promising soon-to-be-death did not lessen in strength, "This one used to run with my pack... until he left for Death Knell's gang. Motherless swine didn't even have the guts to fight me for the right to leave – he just packed up and left with his coward's tail between his fat legs."

Ponirya nodded. Usual Chorus bullshit.

"And wise move at that. How many have you lost under your command so far?" He held up a hand, stifling a smile. "I misspoke. I'm sure you only got most of them killed – can't rule out death their own incompetence."

"Do you plan to kill him now, or after the mission? Because we're on a schedule here, and I'd have to work another surprise fight into it."

"Eh... later then," the Fury shrugged. For a woman who looked about ready, and had all the necessary knowledge, to disembowel the man on the spot, she showed remarkable restraint. "Fake Limp, get comfortable with the idea of a knife in your belly. It'll come from me as likely as not."

"Just tugging your chain for old times' sake! You were always happier when you had a nemesis out in the world, eh?"

Ponirya turned to Choirman and gestured behind him, to the dark and thick part of the forest where the rebel camp supposedly was. "What's the situation with the oathbreakers?"

"Their camp is just yonder," he pointed to the northeast, "and we've kept an eye on them for the last couple of days. Some of them left a few hours ago – looking for food, maybe out on patrol – but they haven't returned yet. Might be wise to strike now while they're divided."

"Well, aren't we all incredibly fortunate..." She looked back at him. "Do you mind telling me how'd you find this place?"

"Happy accident of sorts." He pointed east toward the mountains. "We were up in the mountains with orders to keep the oathbreakers in, and keep any would-be-allies out of the valley. Strangest thing happens – tremors hit the pass. And the tremors lasted a bit, so I figured they were magical but there weren't no sign of Earthshakers or anybody."

Ponirya nodded, breathing out a chuckle before turning serious. "No really, how'd you find this place? Nobody else in the Chorus knew where this camp was."

His eyebrows shot up. "Not sure what you're playing at... and I don't like your tone. We had orders to watch the mountains east of here and found this spot on our trek back to camp. What can I say? I answer to the Archon of Secrets – I don't get told a lot details, but I sure see a lot of coincidences."

To Ponirya, this made little to no sense. What was the point of interrogating prisoners then? Or the overblown spectacle involving the Sage? If Nerat already knew, and therefore, Fifth Eye knew...

"And your plan now entails... what exactly?"

"I lost two of my gang in the mountains and we've been half rations for days. So until we get a much larger contingent, we're not likely to win any fight we start. Now that you're here, I figure my gang will hold back and keep an eye out for trouble, maybe swoop in if things get messy."

While that would certainly explain why he needed her to do his work, it still couldn't be possible this was the only reason Fifth Eye had sent her here for.

"Obviously, because that is what Fatebinders do," her voice carried that sardonic note, but sarcasm was lost on this one and there was little she could do but sigh.

Smiling broadly, he clapped his hands in approval and her brows furrowed, knitting together as she glared at him. "Kyros would applaud your bravery! My gang and I will lurk nearby. When you make your move, we'll descend and help capturing Florian. Don't worry, I'll let the others know you did the heavy lifting. I'll cheat at battle, but not with my reputation." He pulled his men back, signalling to them to retreat and stay out of, no doubt _harm's_ , way. "Good hunting with you, Binder."

Out of sight, ways ahead, she rubbed her face. There was no promotion Tunon could give her as payment for enduring all of... _this_. The Fury crept up next to her.

"How do you plan to get Pelox alive? I mean, if you want to keep your word to Fifth Eye at all." Verse asked as Ponirya turned to look at her from the shadow of her hood. "Just curious."

"I plan to handle it much how I handle most cases delegated to me-" she paused, stapling her fingers together before her face "-by getting it to solve itself."

"Does that shit actually work in the Court?"

"I could tell you all about the rate of perfectly solved cases-..."

"Yeah... sounds about fun as listening to iron idiots drone one about 'pride' and 'breeding' and 'strategy'." Verse wore a disgusted and very much bored face.

" _I'd_ be _very_ much interested to hear all about it!" The sage called, quill in hand, already dipped in ink and ready to write.

"Of course! I'll be more than happy to tell you all about it the next time we make camp!" Poinrya was addressing Lantry, but her grin wasn't straying from Verse's face.

The Fury let out a groan.

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The ground was littered with traps – between trees, bushes, broken carts of a battle long since gone... all cleverly hidden by leaves and fallen branches. They were clearly close to their camp. Verse even showed her some well-hidden tracks of loaded carts that had to have passed recently. Not so small of a camp then. They weren't exactly trying to remain unseen – Barik's presence didn't allow for much of that – yet they were close enough were not spotted. And were yet to see a guard.

"When we reach the camp, no one attacks, provokes an attack or reacts to a provocation without my say so." Ponirya warned, voice serious and Verse groaned.

"Fuck me sideways. I knew it. You're going to talk through this."

"Talking makes up for more than half of my job."

"Why do I go along with you?"

Ponirya flashed her a knowing grin, "Because the other half of my job usually involves a bloodbath. And you're addicted to those." Ponirya brushed her fingers across Tunon's sigil on her shoulder, the mark of the Fatebinder. "And Nerat told you to, so..."

There might, or might not have been a quiet 'fuck you' behind her, and Ponirya stifled a grin.

Ah. There were guards up ahead. Ponirya pulled her hood down, letting golden hair settle about her soldiers. Unkempt as it was on the road, she could still be easily identified and not speared through on the spot.

"The Overlord's peons have arrived! Blades up!" Falx in hand and ready for battle, the Vendrien Guard captain bellowed orders to the warriors in his camp. Sound of rushing heavy footfalls came from within the camp.

Dressed in tarnished bronze and sporting countless scars across arms, Pelox Florian towered over his peers. "If you value your life, drop-..." his words fall silent as he scanned her face in careful detail. "Wait... I know you... how on Terratus do I know your face? Can it be? Peacebinder?"

The Fatebinder rested her hand on her sword, staring the man straight in the eyes. Long enough for things to become uncomfortable and he shifted his gaze, prompting her to motion towards him with her hand. The threatened guard's eye darted between her and the others. Ponirya waved, gesturing for the two guards to move out of the way.

"I left my nicest blue flag back at camp, but I'd like to talk all the same," she smiled, eerily serene. Eerily cheerful.

The warrior relaxed his grip on the falx. "Come to lecture me about not holding up my end of the surrender? If you value your life, drop everything and flee. Or stand and fight. I'm happy with that option too, it just seemed unsporting for me to suggest it."

"I would, actually, like to intrude upon your campsite. In a peaceful kind of way."

"You want to talk?" Florian looked in either direction of his soldiers, gauging their reactions. "Fine. Speak your mind. Try anything funny and I'll run my falx clear up your backside until you taste bronze."

"Brother, restrain your blade." A warrior flanking Florian stepped forward, Travost if she recalled correctly, placing his hand on the Captian's shoulder. "Remember, I told you it wasn't just any Fatebinder that saved my life, it was the Peacebinder. Listen before you taunt your way into a fight."

Vendrien Guard captain nodded slowly, his gaze falling to his feet until at last, he took a deep breath and spoke. "Fatebinder, honour dictates I stay my blade. Please, speak."

"I'm telling you this to try and save lives, like I did in the past. If you'll submit to the Voices of Nerat, these soldiers go free. You have my word."

"I have the Peacebinder's word?" He snickered, shaking his head with a nervous smile. "So I get to meet the masked monstrosity... and my crew lives on so that they might die in the next battle? Think I'd be less worrisome if you told me I had to be Cairn's peg boy."

"Aren't you listening – they want just you. The rest of us slip away and have a chance. If this were a battle, and you could stand in front of a Disfavored phalanx and actually stall them long enough for me and the crew to escape, you'd do it. You wouldn't think twice," Travost called.

Obviously, no one told them that facing a Disfavored phalanx head-on, was very much more preferable to having a face-to-face with the Voices of Nerat.

"Tyrel would say the same." He loosened his grip on his falx, shaking his head. The Captain inhaled deeply, taking a quick survey of his soldiers as he exhaled slowly. "I will do it. If you allow my soldiers to leave, I will concede, and agree to be your prisoner."

It was surprising how easy it was to persuade a man into surrendering his life for a higher cause he fervently believed in. Her appearance in the camp seemed to be expected – they had some knowledge at the very least that a Fatebinder was now involved. A _peacebinder_ no less. Her word was trusted, more so than any other Kyros' servant – which wasn't saying much given how Kyros' people were usually killed on sight.

 _Unless_... a tidecaster made a _recent_ visit to the camp...

Pelox was not 'happy' to go, but was certainly willing. And the news of this should keep Fifth Eye and Nerat (but mostly Fifth Eye) quiet for a little while. And a little while was all she needed.

"You hear that? Go on, and tell the crew back home that I'll return soon. And if not..." the captain turned his gaze towards her, then smirked, the corners of his mouth twitched nervously. "Well if _that_ happens, I trust you will all avenge me. But if this Fatebinder speaks true, I'll be back soon. I'll even bring back a souvenir – the severed head of the Voices of Nerat!"

"None will forget your sacrifice." The brothers locked arms, and pressed their foreheads together. "Worry not, I'll take up the rudder."

Each warrior, in turn, approached Florian, embraced, and readied to depart with a silent nod. When the warriors have said their goodbyes, they hoist their rucksacks and depart. Once more, Ponirya could hear the Fury groan behind her.

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Striding into the camp at the tail end of a sprint, the Scarlet Chorus warrior begun to speak but stumbled forward, bracing himself short of collapse as he caught his breath. "More on the way..." his words rolled out between laboured breaths, "patrol from the morning... coming back-... Well look at that!" He smiled an exhausted grin through his heavy berathing. "The captain is in one piece! Just as requested. The Voices will be pleased."

Pelox Florian looked down at his feet, a slow smile crept over his face. "You haven't won just yet. Second patrol should be returning right about... now."

Fake Limp saluted the Fatebinder with a wicked smile. "If you can tackle the incoming patrol, my gang and I will make sure this oathbreaker sees the Voices of Nerat. The Archon of Secrets will be most pleased."

Ponirya arched an eyebrow. "Unfortunately for the Chorus – or you in this case – I am unable to comply with this plea."

 _This_ seemed to catch him off guard.

"My list of things that are broken in this campaign is long and keeping up with it is both tedious and eating up my resources. I simply cannot devote my time to each and every oathbreaker patrol in the area." Fake Limp's eyes narrowed. "As per Fifth Eye's most arduous demand, I have secured Pelox Florian for you. If you and your gang have trouble either dispatching, or keeping safe amount of distance, from a single patrol than my involvement in this matter was a waste of time from the start." It was a threat, a casual one that usually kept others fall in line.

"We will get him to Voices. Not sure if he'll be happy about your refusal to help," the gangly men rounded his men and gave them swift command to pack up with the prisoner.

Ponirya shrugged with a vague smile affixed on her face as she watched them leave in a hurry. Ungrateful brat.

Did Fifth Eye play a game with her and allowed himself to be humiliated all the while being aware of the location of this 'second force'? Was it a way to distract her from something else? Unless the entire event surrounding the prisoners and extracting information was a stage for Nerat's amusement or other more underhanded plots... either which was likely, but there was no way for her to know for sure.

"Well, there goes Fifth Eye's prize..." Verse sighed. "Fake Limp can't escort a sack of shit safely from one end of the camp to the other. And with how decimated his gang is... Are you smirking Binder?"

There was no way Fake Limp will be able to outmanoeuvre the patrol. Not with Florian's men eager to reclaim him. And not when she knew that yet another group of oathbreakers was in the area – who will likely not be employing a blue flag for this occasion.

Hopefully – it will all prove a very bloody affair. That Fifth Eye would lose his precious commodity simply because he chose to play games with her...

"Only at the vague incompetence of every Chorus member who is not a Fury or a Spear."

"Indeed. Perhaps the Archon of Secrets should invest more time in making sure that at least some of his soldiers are up to standard."

"I'm with Barik on this one."

"And I'm the Queen of Apex."

"Nothing out of the realm of possibility."

"Don't encourage her."

Ponirya laughed. Openly and warmly.

"Come. It's high time we head to Echocall, while we still have enough hours in the day to get to the crossing."

"What about heading back to the camp? Shouldn't we at least report this-...?"

"Their tidecaster will be delayed by chasing down, and very likely, _drowning_ Fake Limp and Florian. In the meantime, seeing how we can't exactly call for more reinforcements, we should deal with the river before we lose more troops."

"While I do not approve of such fraternizing with the traitors, even for the purpose of furthering our goal, this is... actually not a bad choice of distraction. And with a loss of only a handful of Choirmen."

"Verse?"

"What? If that sack of shit can't handle delivery, then I'm not going to mourn his loss. Besides, you did say I can kill him later."

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	6. Act 1 / Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

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_Echocall Crossing was a village situated along one of the narrow sections of the Matani River. It was the main route into the heart of the valley, and possessed two highly-defensible bridges. Many settlers in the area are believed to be directly assisting the rebel effort._

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This was a place war was clearly felt. The crossing was filled with the noise of wounded soldiers and rushing water. Ponirya thought back on the meeting under the blue flag. At least now she knew why Echocall was so hard to take and why the bodies kept washing up on the banks of the river for days on end. A school of tidecasters interrupted Overlord's trade across the sea – a single one was more than enough for that kind of intimation tactics. Fortunately, that one was wholly distracted, and finding a way across was more a matter of persuading different parties to 'take the bait'.

By now, both armies looked like a freshly washed-up corpse on this side of the river. There were more soldiers holding onto their spilling guts than standing ready for a fight.

"Not as bloody as I expected," came from the Fury as they reached the other shore.

"Not enough bodies either." Barik jumped over to the shore with inches to spare. Impressive for a guy in armour.

"I can easily imagine there being a solid pile of corpses downstream." The village was already on fire and, not ones to miss a chance for a wholesale slaughter, the Furies were already cutting through local residents and Guard alike. "It's time to join a bloodbath-..."

"Fuckin' finally!" Verse was smiling, all teeth, pulling out her blades and rushing into the nearest skirmish, laughing as she took a rushing step in and tried to cleave a bronze-clad warrior's head. All before the fatebinder could even finish her sentence.

Ponirya held back a sigh. At least this should be quick. Taking to a half jog, she manoeuvred her way around the buildings, glancing over her shoulder occasionally when she thought she heard something. Muffled voices and fearful exclamations could be heard from inside of some of the houses. Sybil Matani was somewhere in this village, and proud as they were, the Vendrien Guard wasn't about to just run away.

With Lantry tasked with keeping them all alive, Barik (also tasked with keeping the healer alive) and Verse chased the retreating group of soldiers to the centre of the village where the well was.

Verse had seen the explosive fire spell lobbed towards them from a trap that was triggered, saw it bounce on the ground a few feet in front of Barik and he had not. In a split second she had lunged forward. With a muscular arm around his neck she yanked him backwards with all of her efforts and felt him fight it. Turning on his foot to try and maintain his balance, he went to turn his rage to Verse when she tugged down just as the explosion sounded.

The Fury hit the ground. Sulfur filled her nose and her ears were ringing so loudly she couldn't hear anything. Eyes shut, she didn't move. The blast had forced Barik back so suddenly he didn't have time to correct himself and he landed on top of her. He shielded her from the blast on accident but managed to bruise her up pretty well.

He expected to hear her laugh at the excitement of it all, or maybe hear her complain as she trudged forward to continue the slaughter, but she did neither.

"Get off of me!"

For a moment, Barik was just as stunned. Laying there, her elbow was probably awkwardly jabbing into his back, not that he could feel it, vision distorted. He lifted from her and rose to his feet. Looking around, he breathed hard, ragged as he scanned the area. The fire trap had managed to kill the last of the Guard on this street, but more were to come.

"Binder! Where the fuck are you?!" Her eyes caught the dark-clad figure crouched near some crates. Her weapons were drawn, yes, but her focus was on the pile before her. Grumbling, Verse pulled out her bow and arrow, aiming one at the Fatebinder.

Ponirya moved, just enough, out of the way for the arrow to burry itself in the wood where her head was. With a sigh, she stood and pulled the arrow out.

"I swear, you have no patience." She tossed the arrow back at the Fury.

"Then I guess all the rush until now was for show." And then a moment later. "What did you find?"

"I'll tell you after we find Sybil."

"My guess – the bitch is all the way back at the tail end of the village."

"They keep pulling back!"

"Cowards," Barik spat.

"Focus on cornering her. Let the others clear out the rest of the Guard."

Navigating through burning and blocked streets, the pathway took them in one direction only.

"Brave warriors of the Vendrien's Guard, these foreigners and sell-outs mean to burn our homes and butcher our families. Summon what strength you have and show Kyros the price of taking our land!"

Several soldiers stepped out from half-closed doorways and dimply-lit alleyways, fury blazing in their eyes. The partisans shouted battle cries to marshal their courage, and Ponirya could see the gray gleam of iron as they brandished their weapons and charged.

"How in the name Ashe did these hillfolk get their hands on iron weapons?!" Barik regarded to locals with momentary panic and bewilderment before setting his stance for battle. He charged at one of the guard as Ponirya ducked to avoid a spear. Grabbing it as it was jabbed at her, she twisted, flipping the soldier over before she grabbed the weapon from one of them, stabbing the blade in the throat before giving it a twist to sever the head.

"Deal with them quickly. We need to get to Sybil before she escapes."

More come to join their fallen comrades but iron was of little help to those with no actual skill in the ways of killing and many failed to react in time. The Fury, and even old Sage, were busy placing precise cuts into their exposed bodies, spilling their organs and blood upon the crude stone floor. The smell of blood was in the air, the electric charge of fighting.

Ponirya rushed her group to dispatch distractions as quickly as possible. The last enemy group fell to the floor with a dull wet thud from her blade, his eyes wide as his last breath hisses from his lungs and the lights leave his eyes. She needed to get to Sybil before the others... and she chased their leader up the buildings, across flat rooftops, until fire and lack of space forced them all to stop and face each other.

"They're here! Weapons up, and remember those no longer with us - honour them with your courage and prowess." The Captain turned to face her as she approached. "Fatebinder, we are proper warriors, are we not? This battle should remain between those of us who specialize in dealing death. Let the villagers go, they did not ask for this conflict."

"I'm not here for slaughter, I'd prefer to talk."

"Really? The trail of my dead friends says otherwise. What is there to say, Fatebinder? Unless it's 'sorry for all the murders' followed by a big swig of hemlock, it's too late for words to solve anything." The Captain looked at the fatebinder expectantly. Her soldiers stood ready, and the muffled cries and sobs of villagers filled the air.

"My goal is to gain your surrender without bloodshed."

"That is a commendable notion, but a tragically simple one at that. If any here could stomach life in the Chorus, or submission to a Disfavored work camp, that person already surrendered years back. The folks standing before you are the ones serious about our freedom." Sybil Matani was a veteran and a loyalist woman of the Kingdom of Apex, responsible in part for starting the insurgency in the first place. She was not going to abandon her men, or her cause just so. "Besides, we already reneged on a surrender - I know any deal you've come to offer is just a trap, as the Archons' pride demands that they bury us. So sorry, but we've been at this too long, death or glory - no third opt-..."

"Run," Ponirya gestured over her shoulder, not even waiting for the woman to finish properly. "All of you, or you'll have to deal with my allies when they arrive in force."

Scraps of heavy boots against the gritty floor drew everyone's attention. "Binder, what do you mean by this is dereliction of duty?! I could see us letting the sick and infirm go to tell of our infamy, but these southnobs took up arms against Kyros. That cannot be forgotten."

"We must take Echocall Crossing. We've done that." "We've beaten their warriors and shamed the Captain aside her ancestral river. Never heard of winning graciously?"

From inside his hulking iron suit, Ponirya heard but a small grumble, then Barik fell silent.

"So you can have a moving target to make it interesting?" She started to laugh, the smirk faltering as fatebinder's intent registers. "Wait, we can... by Kyros codpiece, you mean it!"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"I will repay this." She nodded to the fatebinder, then turned to her crew, signalling for all to flee. The Guardsmen and villagers scattered northward.

Ignoring the grumbles of at least two of her group, and before the local representatives of the Chorus and Disfavored arrived, Ponirya took the chance to rush back down, finding a way through streets until she reached a pile she marked earlier.

"You're going to have to start explaining what you're doing eventually!"

Ignoring the protests behind her, her fingers brushed across the markings on the crate. She pushed the lid open, it was filled with hay and rotten leftovers. Stench was burning through her nose but Ponirya reached in, digging around until her fingers brushed against something solid.

She pulled out a busted iron sword.

"...Disfavored's shipment of iron..." the Stone-shield gasped. "That would explain _why_ they had it-..."

As befitting their high status in the Overlord's armies, the Disfavored use the most iron armour and weapons of any of Kyros' forces. So what were these crates doing here, in a rebel village? No – a village that by all indications had wanted nothing to do with the rebels.

"We need to scour the village before it's burned down. More of the crates have to be here."

"I'm sorry to say, but we don't have time for that," the old sage moved, green sigils dancing across his fingers. Fighting wasn't something an old man like him should a part of.

"Is that why you let her go? That's a shit reason, you know."

"It's a valid shit reason. The entire war effort in this valley is being sabotaged left and right." Her words were almost lost as the crinkling of fire rose around them, and the inferno started to take hold. Screams followed and the fatebinder dropped the broken weapon back into the crate.

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Ponirya sat crossed-legged and watched the village burn, mingling shapes and shadows of fire dancing across her face.

A fire that started almost immediately as they set foot on the other bank of the river.

A very _deliberate_ fire.

Chorus blamed it on her, of course. Siding with the Disfavored again, of course.

' _Pissants, the lot of them...'_

The crossing was theirs. And she was left with more questions pertaining to this whole mess than she had at the start. Earlier Barik had made a remark that could have easily passed as typical Disfavored bluster, yet was eerily on point – the oathbreakers were too well-armed, too well-fed, and too well informed than any rag-tag group had any rights to be.

Did Tunon know about this? Was that the reason he had sent her? No, if he had suspected foul play on this scale – the possibility that one or both Archons actively helped in destabilizing the peninsula... he'd have sent Calio to sift through lies and half-truths, quickly followed by Mark to clean up.

She had to wonder just how much _he_ knew of this. Did he listen in? And if he did, how much would he relay to Tunon? Perhaps it was a matter for after the war, even better – if the Edict did the culling it wouldn't matter how much backstabbing and rolling over Overlord's laws there was.

Ponirya knew that she needed that Edict resolved quickly, especially if the Archons were deliberately hindering her efforts. Fortunately, she had a plan. A wholly suicidal course of action. And one she did not need much agonizing over to decide on. She already resented being sent here, so what better victory for her than to take the Ascension Hall from under their immortal noses.

Not to mention, she also wanted to continue breathing, which seemed highly unlikely with the way Archons of War and Secrets were handling the war. Going back to the camp where the endless disputes of Archon of War and Archon of Secrets waited to be piled on her, didn't seem so bad.

All she had to do now – was wait.

ಠ_ಠ

By the time they arrived outside the camp, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, lighting the sky orange and purple. At the border of the long shadow cast from the tall wooden fence and open gate, a merchant hastily packed his cart. Seeing the Fatebinder walk by, he gave a rigid bow, keeping his gaze averted. Ahead, two large guards flanked the entrance of the barrack. Seeing people approach, they straightened, hands readied at their weapons.

"If I have to kill another Fury..." For the most part, basic tasks of putting the army in somewhat sensible shape were less demanding than any of the major conflicts she had faced. They were also more irritating. But there was little else for her to do to pass the time before the final march on the Hall.

"Kill on. Me? I'm quite happy that Death Knell is missing a chunk of her throat, but Fifth Eye was rather fond of that one."

"...ew..."

Verse laughed.

"I'm glad to know that your preference for Chorus doesn't prevent you from dealing deserved justice."

"'Preference'," Ponirya mouthed at Barik, "is such an unnecessarily strong of a word. It is simply that the Chorus is more… useful to work with, in the long run." When they weren't actively sabotaging her. "I have nothing against Disfavored," except everything, "merely that I, as a loyal subject of Kyros, must ensure that there are people to work the fields and that there are fields to be worked on once the Conquest is complete."

They made their comings and goings between the army camps as they cleared up a few more of the obstacles before advancing on Ascension Hall. The mood changed little between the two camps – the amount of yelling coming from the command tent usually being the only way to discern the time of day. Still, tasks set before her by the Disfavored were by far and large, army oriented, and something like trying to find stolen goods and the one responsible for theft – that was more in line with tasks set before a Fatebinder.

A crime. An investigation. Such things were vastly more interesting to her. And maybe Tunon would see it fit to reassign her to such cases once she concludes this mess called 'the Vendrien's Well'. Only... and if things work out the way she was hoping they would, she couldn't guarantee it that everything would be concluded to his satisfaction. In a sick, roundabout way, she was thankful for the wording of the Edict, for it allowed for possibilities. Tunon won't be able to argue with her chosen course of action. Oh, he'll have something to say, but so long as he gives him o reason to cast judgment on her, she was good... and alive.

Alive was important.

With the little free time they had left, the group dispersed around the camp, mostly in search of food or means to repair their equipment. Ponirya noted that not only was the main tent off-limit, it was also blissfully quiet.

She found to local gossipers, a couple of Disfavored were keeping themselves busy near the tents assigned to her. Lucia and Marcus (did Disfavored always come in pairs?) – the two have, no doubt, been informed to aid her in every way they can and to treat her with the utmost 'respect'. Which wasn't much. Nunoval was _their_ favourite Fatebinder.

From under her skull-shaped helmet she could hear an audible scoff. "Fatebinder."

If the Court taught her anything, it was to be shrewd and astute, but the Disfavored were made of the same mould from which all the soldiers in the Northern Empire were sculpted in – they were to obey, and had no need for improvisation. They considered the Fatebinder an ally, simply because she found herself on the same side as them. The idea that it could be beneficial to her task to agree with them did not occur to them, or did not occur to many of them. Their belief in the Archon of War was all but insane in how boundless it was, and in turn they were treated more akin to sons and daughters than subordinates. And, like any obedient child, they did not doubt that their father would invite-only a friend to the table.

That didn't stop the Disfavored from being any less fond of her, and that wasn't likely to change. They believed that most of her judgments were done in favour of the Chorus. A laughable notion given recent events.

She offered the two a greeting, letting her hood fall, pale hair catching light in moonlight. "The camp is quieter than usual."

"The Archon of Secrets has returned to his camp." Marcus sighed, even his shoulders slumping, as if a weight had fallen off of them (despite still being decked fully in iron armour). "I thought they would burn down the camp long before we set out. Thank Kyros for small mercies."

Well, that gave her some breathing room while she waited. It didn't explain why Nerat would leave when they were so close to giving an order to final assault.

"I consider it fortunate. We finally earned some sleep." Through the visors of her helm she noticed Lucia's eyes roving up and down her body. "Or other things."

"Lucia! Are you flirting with Tunon's Fatebinder?"

"Relax, Marcus. There are plenty of camp slaves if I ever need to scratch an itch. Although..."

"Good to know you'll be well-rested for the assault," the fatebinder changed subject to something more familiar. "Kyros' Day of Swords is fast approaching." Giving her the acute feeling like she was dealing with Calio all over again, it was quite possible that Ponirya had paled. But it was night and moonlight, and no one could tell. And... it was the other thing that Lucia said that got her attention.

"Maric's Oathbound are disappearing by the day, and though he insists many are alive, I feel it might be wishful thinking on his part at this point."

"Still? We have cleared out several of their groups by now."

"Even outnumbered, the Guard keeps pushing. They're tenacious, I'll give them that."

"Agreed," Barik moved from behind her, the sound of metal bending accompanying his words. "Although there isn't an army in the Tiers that is even remotely the equal of the Disfavored, given time, competent leadership, and proper arms, the Vendrien Guard might someday approach something that could be called a proper army… but we will put a swift end to them long before that day comes to pass."

"You sound like you admire them," Ponirya piped up, having noticed that in his tone. His voice was all she had to try and judge his emotions, as few of them he seemed to still have. She figured she was pretty good at reading his tone too, something she took pride in.

"I can admire their sense of loyalty. It does not, however, mean that I will let this go unpunished. I aim to take the fight to their domain."

"With the way things are falling in place, Barik, you might just get your wish."

Bidding farewell to the two Disfavored, she sat against one of the tents, watching the soldiers move about. Cold iron and purple cloth, the clank of heavy footfalls. She pulled out the book from her satchel and leaned against the tent. Charcoal flew across the empty pages.

Ponirya didn't like Disfavored camps. It wasn't that the Chorus was any better or any different. Just that the Disfavored managed to reach that sweet first spot, to get her to hate them before she even learned of the existence of the Scarlet Chorus. She had learned in time, to deal with her issues so she could remain impartial during her deliberations, but the strong feeling had never left her. And now sitting here in their main camp, watching the legion soldiers go about with ruthless efficiency even during their leisure time, she was remained of that, her very first time in the Disfavored camp and the ghastly memory still haunting her.

"Are you responsible for the commotion? They speak of Edict-...?" Quiet, just enough for Ponirya to hear it, but a soft, if cold, voice called from the inside of the tent.

"A greeting would be nice." Ponirya didn't hide her irritation even as her heart jumped to her throat. There was a moment of silence. An annoyed silence. Of course, it would be too much to ask for any other kind of emotion after all these years. "It's been a while."

Years. A good couple of them at least.

"I didn't count."

She wouldn't, but Ponirya did. She wanted to ask if she was doing all right, but bit her tongue instead. It was a stupid question. Drawing her knees up, she draped her arms on them, hands limp, charcoal hanging from between her fingers.

"Are you saf-..."

"When will it end?" the voice changed the subject with all the grace of a sledgehammer and Ponirya grit her teeth.

"Soon." One way or the other.

There was only silence from the other side, as if there was nothing else to be said. Her sister was ignoring her again. Much how she did every other time they would happen on each other. Ponirya closed the small notebook, putting it away. She wasn't getting much done anyway. These chance meetings were few and far between, and she didn't want to be the first one to walk away – so she settled for sitting there in silence, being ignored.

And still, it felt like the world was on the verge of death. She was trapped in Vendrien's Well with Kyros' armies, the earthquakes and the oathbreakers, and the only way to survive was to fulfill the terms of the Overlord's Edict, in any way that she could.

Ungrateful job, with ungrateful people on all sides, and her in the middle.

It was a 'lose-lose' situation.

Half lost in memories as she was, she still managed to spot something, a bird sitting on the post above and looking down her. A messenger bird. For a moment she dreaded it was one from the Court, carrying Tunon's answer to her less than a kind reply. It was disturbingly easy for her to imagine the wholly unpleasant feeling of Adjudicator's presence and his reaction to it. And the potential outcome should she find herself present.

But no. It was unmarked.

The bird landed on her waiting forearm. It wasn't one of Court's, but it was well trained, and its markings were twisted just enough that it could pass for one of official carriers. Likely the reason why it could land in the middle of an enemy camp and not be shot down. The moment she took the missive, the bird was gone. Turning away from the commotion, Ponirya broke the seal and unrolled the missive. One quick and two thorough reads later, the fatebinder rushed to find her small delegation of misfits.

Verse was busy strapping a new bracer to her wrist – a 'gift' from a chanter who was sprawled out unconscious on the ground before her. Barik and Lantry weren't far away.

"Something wrong boss?"

Eyes bright with the great satisfaction of a plan well executed, Ponirya grinned.

"No. For once, things couldn't be better." She kept her face neutral but her eyes betrayed her excitement. "Pack up people! We've got a place to be. Lantry! What do you reckon is the quickest way to this place?" She handed him the note and the old man's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets.

"Understood… Binder," Lantry looked to Ponirya with an unspoken question. After a reassuring nod, the Sage took and unfurled the map, and indicated a route. "If we travel along the path to and past the... village. It'll probably take about eight hours, or shorter if we're quick."

ಠ_ಠ

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to note right at the start that this will be a very slow story to update. Also, possibly, a story too long for anyone sane to want to read through.


End file.
